


Tangled Up In You

by LindtLuirae



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bi!Peter, College AU, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Grief, Happy Ending, Identity Reveal, M/M, Peter and Harley, Porn With Plot, Self-Discovery, Sexual Identity, Smut, Some angst, biker!harley, gay!harley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindtLuirae/pseuds/LindtLuirae
Summary: Besides him, Harley seems to need a moment to collect himself. “Hey,” he says, fingers touching tentatively at Peter's knuckles. Peter nearly flinches, tingles chasing Harley’s touch. “It’s okay—look at me—it’s okay.”Even in the darkness Harley’s eyes glint and they’re so beautiful for a moment Peter can’t look away.“I don’t mind this.” Harley tells him, firm and genuine. “If you’re curious about… about kissing a guy, I don’t mind.”





	1. Giving In

**Author's Note:**

> This is complete and utter shameless self-indulgence. 10.8k words and not even half-way through this. It was supposed to be a short story but the fic had other plans. 
> 
> I’d love to hear your thoughts.
> 
> Quick warning: mentions of an impending anxiety attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update (24/4/2020): I just reviewed this chapter and edited out the numerous typos! Thanks again for reading and to everyone who reviewed!

Grief doesn’t follow a timeline. It flows and ebbs, it comes and goes in waves. Sometimes gentle, just a little push that makes you stumble and then you regain your footing. Other times it’s the crash of a tsunami, it sweeps you away, clogs your lungs, pushes you under its tides like the weight of the world is suddenly on your shoulders.

Coming up for air is not the real struggle. The real struggle is making the decision to survive, to keep going. Peter often wonders about… giving up. For once, to not fight, to give in, to let go.

But then he remembers that Tony gave his life so that Peter gets to live his. 

He resurfaces with a gasp. It burns his lungs, each breath scrapes painfully against his throat, and his heart beats furiously to keep him alive.

For a moment, disgust threatens to take over. He swims to the edge of the pool, the water suddenly feels too cold on his heated skin, and hefts himself over the edge.

Peter takes long shuddering breaths—his thoughts a swirling mess he doesn’t bother to sort through. Swimming no longer clears his mind. His mind runs rampant, so loud, yet silent. When he swims his awareness shrinks, everything external ceases to exist, and all Peter knows is his heartbeat, the lack of oxygen in his lungs and the loss that still courses heavy in his veins. 

Tony’s memory haunts him.

Peter has had his share of trauma, having been exposed to it from the age of five when his parents left, never to return. He watched some street thug murder uncle Ben right before his eyes, and he’d felt the world and every fibre of his being disintegrate and fade away into nothingness. 

He knows loss, knows pain, knows fear. Yet, watching the life drain out of Tony's eyes, watching as his reactor just went dark like someone had reached into his chest and turned off the light… Peter swallows convulsively, his eyes stinging with tears and chlorine water. 

After another shuddering breath, Peter tries to calm himself. _It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay..._

The wave relents, passes, leaves behind wreckage. Broken pieces strung together by splinters, just about to touch at the shore, only to be tugged back again. 

Grief pulls Peter deep, lurches him back to the surface, only to drag him down again.

* * *

Peter is nineteen years old, fresh out of school. He had been snapped away at sixteen, and then returned five years later thanks to Tony. That was three years ago. Life never fails to feel surreal after something like that.

He doesn’t recall his time away as memories, but rather as disjointed waves of fear, loneliness and darkness. Everyone else remembers nothing. Maybe it’s his spider-senses that contribute to the deeply embedded sense of detachment and isolation he still feels in his bones.

He recalls it most vividly in his sleep—drifting aimlessly, endless stretches of heavy darkness fighting to drag him under like his grief does, even after all this time. 

In his waking hours, it feels like an itching numbness under his skin. A continuous feeling of restlessness, and if Peter didn’t keep himself distracted he knows it’ll drive him mad sooner than later.

Maybe it’s a blessing Tony left him unrestricted access to his lab. 

Correction: Tony left him the lab. As in, it’s now Peter’s lab.

The implications sit heavily on his shoulders. The kind of trust Tony had in him, the way he had looked out for him and continued to even in his absence… Tony wants Peter to carry on his legacy. 

Peter doesn’t think that he's the right person to do that, but the lab is the only place he can still feel Tony’s reassuring presence. 

There’s the Iron Man poster that hangs over the wall, Dum-E in the corner, U, Butterfingers and countless cups of coffee in random, unsuspecting corners that Peter still doesn’t have the heart to move. Sometimes when he's tired enough, haggard enough, he can almost see Tony out of the corner of his eye, poring quietly over his tablet.

And when Peter falls asleep in the lab, his dreams are quiet—the darkness chased away. 

Nothing touches him here.

* * *

“Pete!” A high-pitched giggle follows the sound of small feet padding down the stairs.

Morgan rounds the corner, climbs onto the couch next to him and gives him an expectant toothy grin.

Peter likes to think he's not one to fall for her innocent charm, but that’s definitely wishful thinking. He reaches over to ruffle her hair only to watch her huff cutely. 

“Yes?”

“Come play with me,” she says with something that verges on a pout. 

“Did you finish your homework?” Peter’s gaze flickers from his tablet to her face, still round with baby fat.

The pout becomes more pronounced. “...No.”

“Finish your homework,” he orders and tries to resist a grin when she frowns adorably. He wonders if she gets that look from Tony, after all Pepper is always so regal and collected.

“Pwease…” she cajoles, giving him puppy-dog eyes. She gets her eyes from her father, no doubt about it, a bright hazel-green that are always so loud with emotions. For a moment Peter is stuck in a memory of when Tony had confronted him on a rooftop after the ferry mess and demanded Peter be better than him.

The memory passes swiftly, and he sucks in a deep breath. “Do you promise to do your homework afterwards?”

“Yes!” She cheers, jumps onto her feet, a bubbling pool of energy that makes Peter feel more alive. 

She nearly vibrates in her spot as she waits for Peter to close his tablet and join her.

“Come on, come on,” she urges. “Mommy says we’ll have guests soon!”

“Alright!” Peter’s arm snakes around her waist and he lifts her up and carries her under his arm like a log. Peals of laughter flow from her lips as Peter takes her across the living room.

Just as they’re about to exit to the yard, Pepper walks in, a boy hobbling after her on a pair of crutches.

Peter and Morgan freeze, as does the boy. 

And then, “Harley!” 

Peter blinks, stupefied, as Morgan wiggles out of his hold and nearly flings herself at the injured guy. She seems to think better of it at the last possible second and settles for a gentle hug to his midsection.

“Hey Morgs,” Harley sends her an affectionate look, wobbling slightly on his crutches. His left leg has a brace on it that extends to his knee, and the back of his knuckles are scraped raw.

“What happened to your leg?” she asks, at last, peering curiously at the cast.

“Uh…” he casts a searching look at Pepper, as if unsure whether he should share this particular story. “I got into an accident.”

Morgan looks at him with wide eyes. “Did it hurt?”

“A bit,” he laughs, and then a pair of startlingly blue eyes meet Peter’s. “Hi there, you must be Peter.”

That throws him off. He doesn’t think he's ever been introduced to Harley, despite how familiar he looks. Peter thinks he might have seen him somewhere before. “Um. Yes, that’s me. I’m sorry, have we met…?”

“Not officially,” Harley hastens to assure, “Tony talked about you all the time.”

There’s a faint stabbing sensation in Peter’s gut that he struggles to ignore. “You knew him?”

Harley and Pepper share a sad smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

A heavy silence descends on the room, and Peter’s lungs constrict. _Breathe_ , he tells himself, _just breathe._

Harley clears his throat. “Damn, sorry guys. Uh. It’s nice to meet you, Peter. We should hang out sometimes.”

Peter works his mouth into a smile he doesn’t entirely feel, “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Harley and Pepper move into the elevator, leaving behind Morgan and Peter to stare at each other.

Morgan shuffles her feet, eyes sad. “Still wanna play?”

That snaps Peter out of it, and he exhales for a few moments. When he smiles again, it’s more genuine. “Of course, Morgs. Let’s go.”

* * *

Peter is studying biophysics at Empire State University. It’s supposed to be one of the best universities for this field but Peter doesn’t feel properly challenged yet.

It’s still the only place that gives him a thrill anymore. Of course, there’s the Spider-man business, which Peter attends to frequently, but crime rates have lessened dramatically since his return. He likes to think he's responsible for that.

Ned meets him during their free hours, and during physics class, the only subject they share as Ned studies computer science. Michelle, unfortunately, does not attend the same university. 

They still hang out over the weekend, though.

It’s somewhat a routine, which Peter takes comfort in. Those little constant habits that feel like home when Peter’s memories of displacement threaten to overwhelm him.

School, friends, swinging through New York City, having Fajitas over the weekend. This is what Peter clings to.

Which is why Peter is entirely taken aback when he walks into Mathematics class and finds Harley sitting in the back row. 

They blink at each other, confused.

Peter cautiously approaches, and Harley smiles all friendly and relaxed. “Harley?”

“Well, this is a surprise. Hi Peter,” he chuckles and pats the seat next to him.

Peter slides into it without much thought, dropping his bag on the ground. “You study here?”

“Recently transferred,” Harley scratches his cheek, glancing away at the students filing into the class. “They offered me a scholarship.”

Peter blinks, yet again stupefied. Empire State is one of the toughest colleges in the world, getting a scholarship there must be next to impossible. “Whoa, dude. That’s some next-level stuff.”

Harley honest-to-god blushes, which gives Peter a pause because the first thought that crossed his mind at the sight is: _he's adorable._

The brunette chuckles. “I guess so. That’s why I met with Pepper last week, I’m moving here and she insisted on taking care of my accommodations. I have a dorm here now.”

Peter shoots him a smile, “That’s really great. You’ll like it here, it’s pretty chill.”

Harley is smiling again, a handsome tug at the edges of his lips. “Ay,” He reaches for his iced coffee and takes a drag from the straw.

Peter is momentarily distracted by the perspiration that coats his lips. 

They lapse into silence, Harley twirling a pen between his fingers and Peter distractedly staring at the crutches propped up by his desk. “...what kind of accident did you get into?”

Harley follows his gaze to the crutches, and his expression turns sheepish. “Motorcycle. Some bastard cut me off and I lost control. Crashed into the railing of the highway, and smashed this baby.” He pats his left thigh. “Hurt like a bitch.”

Peter grimaces. “Sheesh, that sucks. Feel better soon.”

He wonders frequently what his life would be like if he didn’t have the ability to heal rapidly. Sure, it still hurts like a motherfucker, but at least it only lasts a day or two.

Harley shrugs, “Doc said I gotta wear the cast for another six weeks.”

 _Yikes_. The thought must’ve shown in his expression because Harley laughs, the sound deep and startling. Peter jerks slightly in his seat, the warm sound settling strangely in his stomach. 

“Don’t worry, it’s not that bad. It’s only irritating in the shower because I’m not supposed to let it get wet.” He explains, the pen still twirling deftly in his fingers. It’s more than a little distracting.

“Wow, that must be a nightmare,” Peter breathes. He's meaning to tell a story of one of his tougher injuries to comfort Harley when Mr Bing walks into class and slams his books on the table.

“Eighty-seven.” The man grits, “eighty-seven is this class’s average. Do you know how _insulting_ that is?”

The class has gone deathly quiet. “Eighty-seven after thirteen weeks of going over everything! Not even that, if it weren’t for Parker’s ninety-nine per cent, the class average would be eighty-five.”

Everyone suddenly finds their table plenty interesting as they all seem to be inspecting it closely. “Mr Wig had a field day with it! Do you enjoy humiliating me? In front of _your_ competition?”

“Who’s Mr Wig?” Harley whispers under his breath.

Peter glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Uh… he's Mr Bing’s brother in law… they don’t get along. He also teaches the evening math batch.”

Harley raises an eyebrow, but remains silent afterwards.

“This is completely unacceptable.” Mr Bing slams his hand on the table, the sound echoing sharply. “New decision effective immediately: if any of you scores below ninety I’m kicking you out of this unit.” 

Indignant gasps echo, people wondering to each other if Mr Bing can really do that.

“Does he have that kind of authority?” Harley turns to Peter, blue eyes wide.

“Uh,” Peter flounders for a moment. “I’m really not sure. But the vice-principal happens to be his father…”

Harley whistles quietly. 

“Are you worried?” Peter sounds unconvinced even to his own ears. If Harley managed a scholarship surely he had nothing to worry about.

“Mhm… mildly? I missed a term so I have a lot of catching up to do. But Math had always been my best subject.” Harley sweeps something out of his bag, which turns out to be his textbook. He flips it open, scribbles something down.

“I could help you study if you want.” Peter has no idea what compels him to open his mouth and say that, he's usually busy in the evenings, yet the words were out before he could think better of it.

Blue, blue eyes turn to regard him silently. Peter only realises he'd stopped breathing when Harley grins at him, a row of pearly white teeth, and says, “You are as nice as they say, you know.”

Peter is tempted to ask who ‘they’ is, but resists. He only smiles in return and hopes he can keep that promise.

* * *

When he meets Ned for lunch the next day, Harley joins them. 

Ned’s smile is enthusiastic and wide, like he couldn’t believe Peter managed to make friends on his own or something. It’s mildly insulting, actually. But Peter simply introduces the two and pulls out a chair for Harley, who, with effort, seats himself and props up his crutches.

Peter sits next to him, wondering if he should start offering to carry Harley’s bag. Harley didn’t say anything, and he seems decently built, broad shoulders and a lean sinewy body, but the bag looks heavy and Harley has to support his entire weight with his upper body.

Ned chatters incessantly about the gaming competition he's participating in, talks about MJ, gushes about his girlfriend Betty. After school was out, Ned and Betty found that they should maybe give each other another chance. They've been going strong for three years.

Peter snorts when Ned mentions moving in with Betty, which earns him a mild glare. “You’re just salty because you’re perpetually single.”

Harley’s eyebrows shoot up high and Peter feels the back of his neck heating up. “By _choice_.”

“You enjoy being a virgin?” Ned says incredulously, which sets Peter’s face aflame.

“Ned,” he hisses, indignant that Ned would give him out like that.

Now Peter is blushing and can’t even look in Harley’s direction.

To his mortification, Harley starts laughing. “What’s wrong with being a virgin?”

Peter’s head snaps in his direction, eyes wide. 

“You’re a virgin?” Ned remarks disbelievingly.

“No, no. I’m not. But I don’t see what’s wrong with being one,” Then Harley grimaces. “Better than losing it at a party to some random older chick who took advantage of your drunkness.”

Ned and Peter stared at him in horror.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Ned says, at the same time as Peter exclaims, “Dude, that _sucks_.”

Harley looks taken aback at their vehemence and hastens to reassure them. “I’m fine, it’s okay. The point is, being a virgin is okay. No one should ever feel pressured to lose it before they’re ready.”

A solemn silence falls over the table for a moment. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Ned eventually agrees. “Sorry, Peter.”

Peter waves him off, “It’s okay.”

“Anyway,” Ned continues, glancing around the food court. “What are you guys having?”

Harley shrugs, and there’s something strangely melancholic in his gaze. Peter immediately understands when Harley responds with: “I’m feeling like a cheeseburger.”

“Hardees?” Peter suggests after he'd managed to swallow the lump in his throat. He hasn’t had a single one of these since Tony died.

Harley nods. “Sure.” 

Peter gets up, and when Harley starts to get up too, Peter stops him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Alarmed, Harley looks up at him. “Uh… we’re getting food, right?”

“No, _I’m_ getting food. Your leg is broken, stay here,” Peter says with finality, not waiting for Harley to respond before he stalked away towards Hardees, leaving behind a gaping brunette.

“Yeah, he does that,” he hears Ned chuckling and then he's out of earshot.

It’s only when he's ordering the food that he starts to feel mildly embarrassed. He all but bossed the dude, and they’ve barely known each other for two days.

Peter hangs next to the cashier until their orders are ready, using that time to burn off his embarrassment.

He doesn’t know why he feels so flustered around Harley and always ends up saying something dumb. But it has to stop.

When he returns Harley is laughing at something, face flushed with mirth and blue eyes glinting brightly. It pairs off well with his tousled brown hair and lighter skin. For a moment Peter’s stomach clenches strangely, and his heart squeezes.

He drops the tray with a little more force than he intended. _What the hell was that?_

Harley starts slightly, but then relaxes at the sight of him. Peter sucks in a breath and attempts a casual smile. “Here,” he says, pushing Harley’s order in front of him. “Cheeseburger, large fries and Coke. I hope that’s fine?”

Nodding, Harley receives the food. “Perfect, thank you,” he shifts, reaching behind him, and retrieves a wallet. “Seven dollars right?”

Peter waves him off. “Keep the money. It’s on me.”

“What? No, why?” Harley looks up at him with wide eyes. Peter swallows with some difficulty, because Harley has really beautiful eyes, and he looks so sincere and taken aback by the idea that someone would buy him lunch.

Peter wants to remedy that, somehow. “Because I said so, come on, free food tastes better.”

Harley looks unconvincingly at Peter, but he plasters on a sheepish smile. “Thanks, man, I’ll treat you back.”

Peter waves him off again, grabs some fries and shoves them in his mouth before he could say something else embarrassing or potentially dumb.

* * *

Here’s the thing: Peter likes women. He has known this with certainty since he was an 8-year-old crushing on their neighbour’s daughter.

Here’s the other thing: Peter thinks he might like men too. The first few times he found himself checking out his classmates’ physique, he had attributed it to his own insecurity of being lean and thin. Especially before his Spider-Man powers, since he had been so skinny.

The first time he began to wonder about the possibility of him being bi, he freaked himself out and completely banished the thought. It wasn’t that he was prejudiced, nor did he believe his aunt would have an issue with it, but Peter hadn’t been ready to consider or accept that new facet of him.

But there is no denying it, after all these years. Peter likes to think of it this way: men are pretty to look at, he can appreciate their handsomeness, he might even want to kiss one, but he didn’t think he’d ever feel a sexual attraction towards another man. 

And Peter is okay with that. He had become comfortable with that. 

Until he had one stupid dream. 

Peter wakes up with a start. His breathing is fast and shallow. His skin feels clammy, and there’s a familiar stickiness in his underwear that makes him stare at the ceiling for long, tense minutes.

He's had wet dreams before, plenty of them. In fact, they are his favourite, though he’d never admit it. 

Peter swallows thickly, the phantom feeling of Harley’s lips on his neck making him shiver with a tingle still pulsing just under his skin.

He's never had a wet dream about a man. Let alone something this vivid.

His dream-self had gotten so excited at the prospect of being touched by Harley that the adrenaline of it had kicked him awake.

And now Peter lay in bed, muscles coiled, aching for a touch, while feeling a strange mixture of intense shame and debilitating want. 

He considers his options for a moment. There’s no way he could fall asleep again with this raging monster of an erection. 

Peter begins to reach down, fingers slipping past the waistband of his sweats, intent on relieving himself. His fist encircles his length, tugs, and he sighs as the crippling tension lessens… and then he stops. His eyes had shut and the first thing he saw was the fantasy of Harley touching him like this. 

Peter doesn’t think he’d be able to deal with the embarrassment of touching himself to the thought of another man—a friend.

Harley has been nothing but nice to him. He jokes with him, teases him and sometimes, just sometimes, Peter would catch Harley staring at his mouth. Like maybe Peter wasn’t the only one who feels this weird tug.

Peter isn’t sure how comfortable he is with this fact.

“It’s just a silly crush,” he whispers to himself and is strangely reassured by his own voice. “It will pass.”

With some willpower, he peals the sheets off his body and hobbles to the bathroom. A cold shower will resolve this. It better.

* * *

These days, Peter’s attention has shrunk to one significant task: banishing every Harley-related thought the instant it enters his mind. 

He had to, after all, every time Harley smiles, Peter feels an uncomfortable tightening in his stomach, and every time he says Peter’s name, Peter’s heart does a stupid little stutter. Peter feels such an incessant urge to kiss him that it’s nearly crippling. It’s almost all he can think about.

When Harley smiles, laughs, chatters excitedly, teases him or goes all soft and tired… the urge is relentless that he's sure his resolve will give out one day and Peter would give in. 

“Look,” Harley slides his math textbook over to Peter, “like this, right?”

The equation is scribbled messily, but the formula is correct. Peter nods, “Excellent, you grasp stuff pretty quickly.”

Harley’s cheeks flush with pleasure, and the urge rears its bothersome head. Peter ignores it. He's gotten pretty adept at that.

It’s been a month of those study sessions, and Peter has grown quite close to Harley. He’d dare call him one of his closest friends.

They have many things in common, in terms of hobbies and dislikes. Harley who’s studying mechanical engineering happens to be a science geek too. He also likes tennis, skateboarding and drumming.

Harley drags his textbook back towards him and continues scribbling answers. 

Harley is probably straight, Peter reminds himself frequently. He doesn’t know why that fact is important since Peter doesn’t plan to do anything about his crush regardless of Harley’s sexuality. Maybe it’s Peter's overactive imagination that’s making him see things that aren’t true.

Surely Harley's smile doesn’t warm at the sight of him. Surely Harley gives everyone else his undivided attention, too. Peter isn’t special, even if he kind of wishes he is.

Peter realises he zoned out when he notices Harley watching him. “What?”

Harley’s lips purse, he hesitates and then he says, “...I have a question— which you do not have to answer by the way!”

The breath gets stuck in Peter’s lungs and he tries not to seem jumpy. “Uh, shoot.”

Harley looks away before he asks, quietly, “Do you have a problem with gay people?”

The question completely knocks him off his feet and he gapes. It’s only when Harley begins to frown unsurely that Peter hurriedly assures: “O-of course not! Sorry, wow, I’m sorry. It’s just— I wasn’t expecting that question.”

“Oh,” Harley lets out a relieved exhale. “Alright, that’s good.”

Peter tries not to ask but he can’t help it. “Why?”

Harley’s expression looks terribly endearing. He can’t quite meet Peter’s eyes full-on as he admits: “I’m… I’m gay. And I just— I guess I just wanted to know if that’ll be a problem. Not that I thought you’re homophobic or anything!”

Peter lets out a laugh that sounds like a wheeze to his ears, “No, no, it’s fine! Gay people are cool, don’t worry.”

Harley’s smile is all soft and affectionate and Peter has to look away before his heart attempts to jump out of his chest. Should he say anything? What if by remaining silent Harley would start to think he's straight?

Does it matter?

He struggles internally with the thought for long silent minutes while Harley resumes solving problems. 

“I’m bi-curious.” Peter blurts before he can think better of it, and slaps his hand over his mouth like he just cussed out someone’s mother, eyes wide with mortification.

It’s too late now, he can’t take it back and he kind of wants to die.

Harley looks up, startled. The surprise only lasts a second, before he grins, “Really? That’s cool.”

Peter drops his hand, sure his cheeks are bright red, and swallows a few times to clear his throat. Harley is watching him, waiting for him to say something and Peter suddenly can’t think of anything. “I’m… I’ve known for a while I’m just… not entirely comfortable with it yet.”

Harley is all shining blue eyes and sincere understanding that Peter can’t look at him a second longer. He drops his gaze.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” Harley chuckles softly. “I was there too, you know? I always wondered why I wasn’t interested in girls the way all my friends were but I thought maybe I just haven’t met the right one… that’s why at that party I just said fuck it and went for it… and you know what? I didn’t like it, not that I remember much of it.

“In twelfth grade, I met this dude who was openly gay, and it got me thinking… at first, even the mere thought of it made me uncomfortable. I grew up in a homophobic village, it’s internalised in us to view being gay as ‘wrong’ and ‘unnatural’. But you know, after making a few friends who are gay, who are _proud_ of being gay, who are unabashedly themselves… and they are cool you know? I don’t know why I thought to be gay made you less cool or something.

“Point is, that made it easier to accept. And after a while, I too felt comfortable with it. Proud even. So don’t beat yourself up, there’s no timeline you know? You can figure this out on your own time.” Harley looks fully at ease, comforting and reassuring and Peter nearly caves in and kisses him.

But he's too busy feeling emotional all of a sudden. “Wow,” he croaks, swallows thickly. “I didn’t realise how badly I needed to hear that until you said it.”

The corner of Harley’s mouth lifts in a gentle smile. “Yeah? I’m glad. If you ever want to talk about it to someone, I’m here you know?”

“Thanks, Harley,” Peter says and means it. “Really.”

* * *

Somehow the tension doubles after the admission. Knowing Harley is interested only in men made it hard for Peter to think of anything else except _there’s a chance_.

He doesn’t know when he'd stopped banishing the thoughts of Harley and instead began wondering if maybe they are possible. If he should do something with them.

But somehow the thoughts trumped and his willpower crumbled and now he finds himself actively weaving fantasies. He knows it’s ridiculous to feel this way as Harley might not be interested in him even if he is interested in men, but Peter can’t help it.

The thoughts are relentless, and the dreams are vivid still, and they are entirely distracting.

Harley is waving a hand in his face, frowning in concern. “Are you okay? This is the fifth time you’ve zoned out. I thought you liked Harry Potter.”

Peter is tempted to ask how Harley has noticed if he's too busy watching the film too but holds his tongue. “Uh, damn, sorry I’m just tired.”

Harley leans over to grab the remote control from the table and pauses Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince. It freezes over a dim screen, and the room is suddenly awash with darkness. 

Peter turns to look at Harley, and instantly regrets it. Harley is too close, so warm next to him, broken leg propped over the table. His minty breath wavers across Peter’s chin and Peter can’t get himself to move away.

“Peter?” Harley’s voice is barely a whisper, like he's afraid Peter would retreat if he disturbs the hush that has befallen his dorm room. 

Shutting his eyes, Peter breathes deeply, tries to anchor himself. Harley’s breath tickles his skin and Peter realises he's leaned closer. He can almost feel the ghost of Harley’s lips hovering just a few inches away from his mouth, so tantalising, yet he can’t get himself to kiss him.

Peter releases a shuddering breath and leans away, regret burning hotly in his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, heart pounding loudly in his chest. 

Besides him, Harley seems to need a moment to collect himself. “Hey,” he says, fingers touching tentatively at Peter's knuckles. Peter nearly flinches, tingles chasing Harley’s touch. “It’s okay—look at me—it’s okay.”

Even in the darkness Harley’s eyes glint and they’re so beautiful for a moment Peter can’t look away. 

“I don’t mind this,” Harley tells him, firm and genuine. “If you’re curious about… about kissing a guy, I don’t mind.”

The longing is unparalleled. Peter had never had such an opportunity presented to him and he's almost completely swept away by the sudden and intense wave of arousal that grips at the thought of _actually_ kissing Harley. 

“A-are you sure?” he stammers, his voice thick. 

He jerks slightly at the feeling of Harley’s fingers curling around the back of his neck and drawing him closer. “I’ve never been surer about anything,” Harley murmurs just as his lips mould against Peter’s.

Peter shudders against the intense swirl of emotions that bubble just under his skin as Harley’s lips move against his own, once, twice, three times and then pulls away. Peter chases them without thought, lips parting against Harley’s.

Harley’s rhythm stutters and Peter tastes his surprise on the tip of his tongue. But then Harley’s other hand is coming up to frame Peter’s jaw and suddenly there’s a slick tongue in his mouth and open heat fanning against his side and Peter can’t breathe.

“Oh gods,” he moans helplessly into Harley’s mouth. Harley’s kiss is liquid heat that pours down his veins, it scalds him from inside out and Peter has never had a kiss this intense.

His hands fumble to find purchase, gripping Harley’s shoulders and drawing him closer. One hand sinks into tousled brown hair, tugs until Harley makes a sound that makes Peter want to burst and die. 

Harley had only kissed him and he's already half hard in the confines of his pants and he… he wants… Peter rips his mouth away from Harley’s delicious heat with a gasp, panting as he presses his forehead against Harley’s and attempts to calm himself. He fails. “Shit. I… I want…”

The hand at the back of his neck strokes the sensitive skin there, and Peter’s entire body tingles with it like he'd being touched everywhere at once. “Shh…” Harley breathes deeply against him, opens his eyes to look into Peter’s. “Do you want to stop?”

Peter thinks he might actually cry if Harley stops. He's so pent up, has been for weeks, that he doesn’t even care anymore. He wants Harley to touch him. “No, please. Don’t stop.”

Harley kisses him again with something softer. Peter whimpers, tangles both hands in Harley’s hair again and tugs hard. 

Harley nearly growls, which sets Peter’s entire body aflame. 

Hands skim along his arms, down his chest, along his back and Peter suddenly finds himself being pulled onto Harley’s lap. 

Settling against Harley, Peter gasps as he suddenly feels all of Harley against him and realises with a jolt that Harley is rock hard beneath him. 

Harley breaks the kiss to take a deep shuddering breath, hands running up and down Peter’s back, his lips kiss swollen and wet. It makes Peter want to kiss him all over again. 

“Do you want to stop?” Harley asks again, quiet and serious. 

“No,” Peter’s reply comes firmer this time, more sure and collected. “Please don’t stop.”

Harley’s eyes are so dark with something as his hands slide lower to settle over Peter’s ass and he grinds Peter against him. 

Peter’s eyes nearly roll back in his head. “O-oh…”

Harley sucks in a breath that sounds like a gasp, and tugs Peter against him again, slotting them neatly together. “Oh yeah…”

Lips press against Peter’s neck, wet and heated as they drag over sensitive skin and Peter has to shut his eyes and bite his lip to resist the shivers tickling his nerve-endings. 

Lean fingers dig in his ass cheeks, grinding him harder against Harley’s erection and Peter can barely focus on anything but the pressure building up at the base of his spine. 

“Do you want to stop?” Harley rasps hotly in his ear, his strained breathing fans the side of Peter’s head and Peter groans and presses down against Harley with more fervour.

“ _No_ ,” he chokes out, digging his fingers into Harley’s shoulders.

Harley tilts his head back and kisses Peter, long and hard, bucking against him. Peter tries to focus on the kiss but fails, and ends up with his forehead against Harley’s, breathing strained and trapped in an endless blue gaze as their hips moved together. 

Every inch of him feels so wonderfully taut, and Peter is surprised by how much he _feels_ in that instant. 

Peter is so close, he could practically taste it but he feels suspended on edge, unable to tumble off the precipice, and he makes a sound of frustration at the back of his throat.

Harley might as well have been psychic because he grips Peter’s thighs, groans out, “Can I…?”

Peter doesn’t know what exactly Harley is intending but he realises he doesn’t care as he just wants sweet release. 

It only takes a nod and suddenly Harley’s hand is pressing over his straining length, palming him through the fabric of his sweats. 

Peter falls apart. He buries his face in Harley’s neck to muffle a grunt as his hips move and grind against Harley’s touch until he's spent. He pants, heart pounding wildly in his chest. 

He crashes down from his high way too soon, propelled back into a dark room so filled with tension he thinks he could cut it with a knife. 

Suddenly, he feels too embarrassed to meet Harley’s gaze.

“... you didn’t finish, did you?” Peter whispers, mortified.

He could still feel Harley’s cock straining against him, and it sends his heart stumbling over every beat. 

Harley lets out a breathless laugh, “Oh honey, it’s okay, I’ll take care of it myself alright?”

Feeling like the heat was wafting off his face, Peter leans back to see Harley’s expression. He looks painfully sincere and Peter wants to… he wants… However, before he could gather up the courage to offer Harley a hand, Harley starts nudging him off.

Peter slides down to the cushion next to him and blushes heavily when Harley begins tugging at his drawstrings and he realises Harley intends to finish his business _here_.

 _Oh gods_ , Peter swallows. Of course— Harley’s leg is broken, he's not going to jerk off in the toilet.

“S-should I leave?” Peter hates that he's turning into a stuttering virgin but he feels out of his depth.

The smirk Harley offers him makes him want to melt. “Well, you do have to clean up don’t you?”

Peter all but dashes to the toilet at that, feeling mightily embarrassed. And only when he gets there does he realise he didn’t ask Harley for spare underwear. 

Peter stands in the bathroom for an entire minute, staring down his flushed reflection. _You’re an idiot, Parker._

His underwear clings to him uncomfortably, and he breathes through his nose to calm himself. _Just wait until he's done…_

He wonders how long that would take. If Harley is already touching himself now, intent on finishing before Peter returns. Peter swallows convulsively as a few more seconds pass _. Who are you kidding you want to watch him do it, don’t you?_

Peter lets out a slow breath, there’s a painful sense of longing unfurling in his chest but he doesn’t think he's brave enough to… to…. He doesn’t know what finally propels him to turn on his foot and walk back into the living room except he's entirely unprepared for the scene that greets him.

Harley has a hand wrapped around his cock, thick and beading with pre-cum. He strokes himself in short, tight tugs that never lose rhythm. His eyes are shut and he's breathing deeply, twisting his hand with each upward tug. Something in Peter coils, trembles, and he realises he let out a shaky breath. 

Perhaps Harley didn’t notice him or simply didn’t care, but his fist is suddenly jerking faster and his breath catches every few seconds and then he's groaning and throwing his head back as he comes all over his fist.

Peter’s mouth goes instantly dry, and he's so confused by the urge that makes him want to touch Harley like that—the strange want to taste him, to suck his fingers clean.

He knows by now that he's in denial. He wants Harley in all the ways he could have him—he's been dreaming about it for weeks for God’s sake. What was scary at the beginning seems inviting now. What’s the point of ignoring this attraction if Harley feels the same way?

And surely he does. If else why would he…?

Peter turns around, returns to the bathroom feeling lightheaded. What is this exactly? Is it just curiosity or is it something more? 

He rips down his underwear, kicks it off. He's too embarrassed to ask Harley for anything, he could last the trip home without his underwear. Peter grabs a wad of tissues and begins cleaning himself. 

So what if he's attracted to Harley? Surely there’s nothing wrong with exploring that side of his sexuality, especially since Harley seems willing. Peter feels strangely giddy at the prospect of doing this again and reprimands himself for being such a hormonal teenager. 

There’s a knock on the door that startles him. Peter quickly buttons up and yanks the door open to find Harley leaning on his crutches, looking strangely sheepish. “I kinda need the toilet for a sec.”

Peter feels his face burning, “Uh, yeah, of course, sorry.”

Harley grins, and Peter’s heart leaps. He quickly makes his way out, and in his frenzied emotional state, he reaches, unthinkingly, to hold Harley’s elbow to help him in. Blue eyes meet his, surprise colouring Harley’s features but then they soften, and Peter’s throat closes around itself. 

He forces himself not to gulp and offers Harley a shaky smile. “Easy there.”

“Thanks. Give me a minute okay? Please don’t leave, we can talk about this,” Harley promises before he shuts the door.

Peter stands there for a moment, heart galloping. It did cross his mind to just leave, run out to avoid any more awkwardness but now he couldn’t. Not when Harley has asked him to wait, not when Harley doesn’t mind, isn’t embarrassed by, what just transpired. And Peter… Peter feels a sense of admiration, even though he won't admit that out loud yet, but he wants to learn how not to be embarrassed by this, like Harley.

It takes a moment to convince himself it’s okay to stay, and another for his legs to take him back to the living room. 

One glance at the couch and the crumpled tissues on the table sets his face aflame. Peter has always been awkward, around women and men alike—his entire sexual history is limited to a few late-night fumbles with Gwen Stacy, her moaning brokenly as his fingers moved inside her, guided only by the knowledge he’d gleaned from pornographic videos. 

No one has ever touched Peter before. Not even Gwen. 

He sits tentatively at the edge of the couch. He had surprised himself. He never thought he’d have the courage to surrender to someone the way he just did to Harley, especially someone he wasn’t dating, or romantically involved with. Another man, no less. But maybe that’s what made it so exciting—how foreign it all was. The possibility of it happening again.

Harley returns a moment later, balancing awkwardly on his crutches. It takes him a minute to settle down, leaving a cushion’s space between him and Peter. At least he's smiling, which Peter finds reassuring. “You’re still here. Good. Not that I believed you’d run away but you know, it's always a possibility.”

Peter shifts unsurely, trying to work his mouth into a smile since the thought did cross his mind. “I’m still here. I—um… well…” he trails off, lost.

_Oh gods, Parker you blubbering fool you’re embarrassing yourself._

“You don’t want to do this again,” Harley concludes with a raised eyebrow. Peter can’t read the emotions in his eyes but he thinks maybe Harley was hoping otherwise.

He doesn’t know why that comment makes him lose all modicum of cool but he's suddenly scrambling for words. “What? No, no, no—I uh. Shit, I’m bad at this—I… I liked this.”

Harley is watching him with that stormy blue gaze and Peter’s heart starts pounding heavily. _Jesus Christ, I need to pull it together…_ “You did?”

“Yes, didn’t you?— uh. Shit sorry, don’t answer that.” Blubbering fool, definitely.

“Peter.” Harley’s voice is soft, amusement evident in his tone but his voice rasps strangely, and when Peter looks at his face he wants to melt because Harley… Harley looks like he wants to devour him.

Shit.

“I liked that very much,” Harley says, honestly, quietly. He reaches to swipe his thumb across his lips, the sight so riveting. His eyes grow slightly distant. “In fact too much…” his refocuses with a smile. “But this isn’t about me.”

Peter’s foot taps on the ground and his chest feels tight and compressed. He's so nervous and excited his fingers shake slightly, “I… I have never done this before…”

“But you want to?” Harley concludes, matter-of-factly.

Peter nods and looks at his hands in his lap. “I never did before… before you.” He feels a burning blush streaking across his cheeks and ducks his head in embarrassment. 

He hears Harley muttering a soft curse and then the other man is scooting closer and when Peter looks up, Harley is right there, looking him right in the eyes. “You’re going to be a serious exercise for my control, Peter Parker.”

Peter doesn’t know why, but those words slip into the deepest recesses of his body and just as soon they attempt to melt him from the inside out.

* * *

Peter goes home in a dazed state, even Aunt May wonders if he's okay. 

Peter guiltily lies to her and says he's tired, but in actuality, he's so excited he's about to give himself an anxiety attack because of it.

Harley had reaffirmed to him that it was okay. He even said they didn’t need to label it, and that he finds Peter pretty damn attractive, so it’s a win-win. Just those words had Peter’s heart soaring—Harley had been so supportive and understanding, saying he’ll go at whichever pace Peter decided.

Peter is so keyed up in fact, that he only ends up catching a measly three hours of sleep. And by the time class rolls by next morning, the excitement had melted into all-encompassing anxiety that made his fingers tremble and his breath stutter.

In fact, he's nearly hyperventilating by the time Math class starts and when Harley walks into class Peter has to press a hand to his heart and try to breathe. _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ why the hell won’t his heart slow down?

Breathing has never felt so straining, not since Thanos—Peter banishes that thought instantly, his throat tightening painfully. No. No thinking about that.

 _Come on, Spider-Man._ He thinks, desperately. _Pull it the together._

Harley slides into the seat next to him, a smile teasing the edges of his lips. That doesn’t help Peter’s deteriorating heart in the least. “Hey.”

“H-Hi.” Did his voice just _crack_?

Harley frowns, instantly noticing something was off. “Are you okay? You look a little too pale.”

Peter laughs loudly and nervously, and nearly cringes at himself. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it! I just didn’t sleep much last night is all.”

Harley doesn’t look convinced, as he starts scrutinising Peter for a moment. “Are you sure? If you want I can take you to the nurse?”

 _Oh gods._ Mortification instantly sets in and Peter stammers, “N-no! I’m _fine_. I swear.”

Harley drops it. “If you say so…”

The minutes tick by sluggishly, dragging on and on. Harley doesn’t say anything afterwards and Peter doesn’t dare look at him, too busy trying to focus on Mr Bing’s consistent drawl and trying to actually perceive the words instead of letting them wash over him like background noise.

By the time Bing dismisses him, Peter is nearly vibrating in his seat.

He hastily gets to his feet and shoves his things in his bag. He needs air, now. 

He's almost out of the classroom when he realises Harley is calling after him. Peter comes to an abrupt stop, face flaming and nerves sparkling dangerously. “Uhh, sorry, I zoned out. Do you need anything?”

Harley studies his face for a moment, seemingly searching for something. “Come with me.”

“Uh…” Peter looks around at the students filing out of the class, wondering what Harley wanted. “Now? I’ll be late for class.”

The other man begins to frown and he too glances around as the last of the students slip out. Once they’re safely alone, Harley moves closer, “Peter what’s going on?”

 _Shit_.

“N-nothing! I’m just… I’m just a little tired, man,” he laughs nervously, but it gets stuck in his throat because Harley doesn’t look convinced, and his concern does something silly to his chest.

“Look, if this is about yesterday…” Harley begins, looking uncharacteristically serious, just like last night when he’d asked Peter if he wanted to stop. “It will never happen again if you’re not okay with—“

“No, no!” Peter exclaims, cutting him off, and instantly lowers his tone when Harley flinches in surprise. Peter’s face burns again as he hurriedly mumbles, “I’m just… nervous,” he admits lamely.

Harley’s features soften and he reaches to drag his thumb over Peter’s blushing cheek, the gentle touch trailing tingles in its wake. “That’s okay. As long as you’re sure this is what you want.”

“I’m sure,” Peter reaffirms and holds his breath as Harley leans lower and closer and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“Good,” Harley’s breath ghosts over his mouth, hot and electric. “Because it would’ve been a shame.”

Peter’s heart is warbling again. “I guess so.”

“Can I see you later?” Harley inquires tentatively, which makes Peter’s insides tremble in anticipation.

“Definitely,” Peter replies before Harley has even finished his sentence and nearly clamps a hand over his mouth. Good gods, he needs to get it together.

Harley’s answering grin makes it worth it though. 

* * *

He meets Harley at his dorm, and by then Peter has nearly given himself another anxiety attack. His neck feels sweaty, his palms clammy. His heart is a quivering mess in his chest and it’s like he can’t get there fast enough and at the same time, he nearly talks himself out of going.

Too late now, he realises, as Harley opens the door, a grin on his face. “Hey, you made it! Come on in, I ordered pizza.”

Peter trails after him and instantly relaxes at the sight of popcorn on the table. A film is paused on the TV and a big blanket is draped over the couch. It’s all so homey and quiet, Harley dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, hair a mess as if he had just woken up from a nap—Peter suddenly feels silly for feeling so on edge.

“What’re you watching?” He asks, dropping his school bag at the entrance.

“Men in Black III,” Harley laughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Peter realises he's only using one crutch today, instead of both, and wonders if his leg is finally feeling better. Weren’t they supposed to remove the cast in another two weeks?

“That’s cool,” Peter says, sitting on yesterday’s couch, but not without blushing slightly at the sight of it. Will he ever look at this couch the same again? He wonders.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” Harley asks nonchalantly as he grabs the popcorn bowl off the table and shoves a handful in his mouth. 

Peter stiffens slightly. “Uh… you mean um, us or…?”

Harley actually laughs, which makes Peter want to dig a hole and bury himself. “No, no. We’ll get to that. I meant— do you want to play video games or something? You look like you could use some loosening up.”

A coffin is beginning to sound more and more appealing. 

“Ooh,” Peter says lamely and looks away to shield his damning blush. “Sure. Video games sound good, great, let’s do that.”

Harley chuckles again and they begin to set up the PlayStation. “Fortnite, Mario Kart or Sonic?”

“Mario Kart,” Peter responds instantly, which earns him a grin. 

“Hell yeah, let’s get your booty kicked.”

The Spider-Man gene rears its competitive head, “Oh? Ten bucks you’ll lose.”

“You’re on.”

* * *

After a rematch (or five), it becomes apparent that Peter is the undefeated champion of Mario Kart. Peter feels a little guilty because his Spider-Man abilities give him faster reflexes and intensified focus but Harley doesn't need to know that.

Harley is bemoaning his loss, sprawled across the couch with an empty popcorn bowl and a pout.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Peter quips and relishes in the familiar banter. His nerves have all but vanished—thank god for that. 

Harley’s pout becomes more pronounced. “Stop preening you meanie.”

“Aw,” Peter says before he can stop himself. “I’ll make it up to you?”

Harley’s smile melts, and he asks, with a wicked smirk. “Do I get a say in how?”

Peter’s mind spirals, halts, reboots. “Oh… I guess.”

“Well, I demand kisses,” Harley decides, still smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Peter.

Well, Peter is done being a coward. It’s ridiculous. So he gathers his courage, and all but crawls into Harley’s lap, mindful of his leg.

Harley seems surprised by his sudden show of boldness, in fact, his eyes widen slightly, which Peter takes immense pleasure in. “How many?” 

It’s like Harley has expected some resistance. He swallows, and Peter is delighted to find out he has a similar effect on Harley as to the one that Harley has on him. “As many as you’re willing to give.”

Harley might regret saying that, Peter thinks as he leans down to press a soft kiss to the corner of Harley’s mouth. He wants to kiss Harley breathless. He wants to kiss him until his jaw aches. 

Harley’s breath catches against him and Peter’s lips part against his own. He tastes like salt popcorn, which makes him smile into the kiss like some lovesick puppy. 

Peter shifts, getting comfortable against the older man, who’s starting to respond in earnest, wrapping lean forearms around Peter’s middle and sinking into Peter’s kiss.

“Mm,” Harley hums into his kiss, runs a palm up and down Peter’s back, tangles fingers in Peter’s unruly mop of hair and tugs gently as he slants his mouth hotly over his. “Mhm...”

Peter tries to calm down the rush he feels hearing those little noises of approval as his tongue curls around Harley’s, caresses it, dances with it. It’s a heated tangle that travels right down his dick, making it impossible for Peter to hide what that kiss is doing to him.

But it’s fine because he can feel Harley half-hard against his thigh and this time he really, really wants to touch the other man. He gasps when Harley’s lips stray from his own to lavish his neck with kisses, because it all but makes him shudder in Harley’s lap.

“Sensitive, Pete?” Harley murmurs darkly into the nook behind his ear and Peter has to bite back a moan.

“Fuck,” he says, instead, hand sinking in Harley’s hair and tugging against the sensation of a tongue flicking across his skin. 

“Are you like this everywhere?” Harley wonders, a little breathlessly, and Peter feels hands on his midsection, slipping under his shirt to caress his sides and over his chest.

He shivers, tightening his hold on Harley because he's definitely sensitive everywhere when it’s Harley’s touch that’s concerned. 

“I wonder…” Harley's hand falls lower, caressing his cock through his jeans. “Can I touch you, Peter?”

 _Fucking hell_ , Peter breathes shakily and reaches to unbutton and unzip his jeans for Harley who watches him with half-lidded, cloudy eyes, so heated in the blatant daylight. 

Harley moves his hands away, presses them to his sides which makes him throb earnestly for his touch. Peter breathes fast and shallow as Harley’s hand sinks past the waistband to rub against his straining cock. 

“Damn,” Harley breathes, riveted. His fingers sink into Peter’s boxers to wrap around his naked flesh, and Peter bites his lip, a quiver zig-zagging down his spine. “Shit baby boy…”

Harley frees him from the confines of his jeans and Peter tries not to blush, except no one’s ever seen him before. He's just over seven-inches, slightly curved, and he's never really thought about what someone else might think upon seeing him, but he's not expecting Harley to curse softly and say: “Shit, you’re gorgeous.”

Peter’s face flames, but he can’t look away from the hunger in Harley’s expression as he smoothens his palm over Peter, curls his fingers firmly around the base and tugs upward. 

“Fuck,” Peter swears, not expecting such a heady wave of arousal to fog his mind. The excitement he feels at Harley’s touch is stronger than the pleasure of the touch, and he has to remind himself not to fall apart.

Harley’s other palm runs up and down his thigh, his nails scratching at the material of his jeans. Harley breathes deeply, chest rising up and down beneath Peter, eyes unabashedly drinking up the sight of Peter above him, flushed, panting, with his cock weeping in Harley’s hand. 

“Is this okay?” Harley asks, adjusting his grip so that it’s firmer.

“Yess,” Peter hisses, bucking into the other man’s palm. It’s like all his insecurities and shyness fled at having those fingers on him, replaced by a fire that burns his loins and a scalding need for more.

And there’s no denying that Harley is enjoying this, that he's taking pleasure from bringing Peter to the edge. “Shit, I want to taste you so badly,” Harley groans, short of breath. “I want your pretty cock in my mouth.”

Peter’s body pulses at that, and he doesn’t overthink it anymore, a moan tumbling from his lips. “Shit, please."

Harley grips his hips and urges him up and forward. Peter is so caught up in the moment he forgets to be embarrassed at being eyed so closely. But Harley is already craning his neck, parting his lips around Peter’s shaft and sucking him in.

“Oh, oh fuck,” Peter gasps at the tight, wet heat of Harley’s mouth, and doesn’t think he’ll last very long.

Harley’s tongue moves expertly, running up and down the underside of Peter’s cock, so velvety against his sensitive skin and Peter tries, but he can’t help bucking into Harley’s mouth, holding onto the back of his head and pressing further into his heat.

He's so fucking close. The sight of Harley under him, eagerly swallowing down his entire cock like he couldn’t get enough of Peter—his taste and heat and sound, his pink lips sliding up and down his shaft, makes Peter want to burst at the seams.

“Shit, I’m—“ Peter’s voice breaks and rises an octave. “Harley I’m going to—nghh!”

Harley had reached around him to press his palm into Peter’s ass and pushed him forward until he was fully encased in Harley’s heat down to the last inch, Harley’s throat vibrating with a moan and clamping down around him.

Peter falls apart with a half bitten off shout. He grinds helplessly into Harley’s mouth as he empties his load into the back of his throat.

Harley chokes slightly, which Peter finds insanely hot, and swallows all of Peter’s cum.

Peter, trembling and spent, pants for the air Harley ripped from his lungs. “Shit. Shit. Fuck.”

Harley wipes a hand across his mouth, slobbery and pink, and an unshakable urge suddenly grips Peter. He slides down from Harley’s chest to his lap, grabs his face and yanks him up into a hungry kiss he feels all the way down in his toes.

Harley groans and Peter feels him straining desperately beneath him. He tastes himself on Harley’s lips, which he thinks he might have found weird, except he discovers it to be unexpectedly arousing. 

“Shit Pete, I—“ Harley rips his mouth away with a gasp, clearly having hit his limit because he's reaching down underneath the waistband of his shorts with minutely shaking fingers, intending on relieving himself.

Before he could think better of it, Peter rips his hand away and starts tugging at his shorts. “Let me.”

Harley’s head falls back with a deep sigh as Peter briefly palms him through the material. Peter suddenly feels glad Harley is a guy, that this is slightly familiar. 

He's touched himself a million times, how different could this be? 

Excitement pumps heavily through his veins as he yanks the shorts down and off, grateful for his strength as he's able to effortlessly raise the other man’s hips.

Harley seems surprised at the strength of his grip but says nothing, instead, he holds onto the backrest of the couch as Peter crawls between his legs, his healthy one falling off the couch to make space for Peter’s body.

He's slightly bigger than Peter, and he pulses in Peter's hand as Peter gives an experimental tug. Harley lets out a raw sound that makes him want to blush. 

The foreskin feels soft and hot under his fingertips, sliding back to reveal the head of his cock with every tug. Peter watches it in fascination, the tip a deep red that keeps leaking pre-cum. 

_What if_ … Peter’s curiosity overpowers him and he leans over, his tongue darting out to sample Harley’s taste.

“Oh, fuck,” Harley gasps and suddenly all ten fingers are in Peter’s hair, tugging desperately.

Peter had only planned to grab a taste, to sate his curiosity, but sensing the bubbling desire under Harley’s skin propels him to part his lips and take some of Harley into his mouth. 

The tangy taste is a little peculiar, foreign on his tongue. It doesn’t taste bad but Peter thinks it might take some time to get used to it. He moves awkwardly at first, struggling to keep his teeth out of the way as he sucks on the head.

Harley’s fingers tighten in his hair like maybe he's trying to control himself. “Peter— Pete, ah fuck, just like that…”

Gaining courage from his praise, Peter takes some more of Harley into his mouth, looks up to see Harley watching him with an expression that has Peter’s cock hardening again. 

Harley’s swollen pink lips are slightly parted, his brows furrowed and his eyes so damn heated Peter thinks he might melt. Their gazes lock, and Peter doesn’t think he's ever experienced a more erotic moment.

Eyes still trained on Harley’s, Peter tries to take more of him, suppresses his gag reflex as much as he could.

“Easy, easy, baby boy,” Harley wheezes, cards his hands through Peter’s hair. “Don’t try to take it all in at once—you’ll hurt your throat.”

Peter chokes slightly, his eyes watering, and eases back. His chin is a mess, and he's slightly embarrassed but the look Harley is giving him… like maybe he would’ve liked to grab Peter and shove his cock fully down his throat, or maybe bend him over the couch and fuck him… 

Peter doesn’t realise he's humping the couch until Harley grunts out, “Jesus, are you… again…?”

 _Oh_. Peter startles, a deer caught in the headlights. He's forgotten it takes the average man a little more than fifteen minutes to be able to go again. But Spider-Man is different, everything is faster, accelerated.

Harley is panting and his cheeks are such a dark shade of red Peter can’t help but give him a heated look before ducking again and trying to take as much of him into his mouth as he can. 

The other man chokes on a sound, pressing on Peter's head—he abruptly catches himself, eases with a hasty apology, fingers smoothing through Peter's hair. 

“Look at you go,” Harley rasps, tugging back Peter's hair so they’re locking gazes again. “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, Pete, fuck.”

Peter’s body begins to thrum with arousal. He didn’t peg Harley as the dirty-talking type, but it’s so hot Peter thinks it’d be a shame if he wasn’t into it.

He sinks another inch down on Harley. It’s a little hard to focus on the rhythm, keeping his teeth out of the way and not choking at the same time. But he's nothing if determined and Harley’s little noises of pleasure egg him on.

“Yess,” Harley _bucks_ into his mouth, which makes Peter want to fall apart because it’s the hottest fucking thing anyone’s ever done to him. “Shit, shit Pete I’m so close, you can stop if you want.”

Like hell that’s going to happen. Peter sucks harder, hollows his cheeks as Harley had done earlier, reaches down to massage Harley’s balls.

He watches in fascination as Harley suddenly clamps a hand over his mouth, muffling a desperate sound hip arching slightly and head falling back.

He trembles, and seconds later Peter feels him down his throat. It happens so abruptly Peter nearly chokes. He swallows brokenly and coughs slightly as he quickly eases back, some of it dripping down his chin and on his fist.

He lets his hand finish the work, jerking roughly across sensitive flesh and takes immense pleasure in watching the motion reduce Harley to a shivering, blubbering mess. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!”

Harley heaves, shudders wracking his frame as he softens in Peter’s grip. Deciding he's had enough, Peter withdraws his touch and gives Harley a second to catch his breath. Meanwhile, he cleans the mess that’s his mouth. 

“Oh gods,” Harley’s murmuring to himself, gasping for air. It makes Peter feel strangely proud that he was able to reduce someone to this unmade state.

Harley takes a few minutes to come down from his high and when he removes his hands from his face he looks surprised and completely boneless at the same time.

“You said… you’ve never done this before?” Harley asks, voice breathy.

Peter feels himself blushing but he still feels emboldened from their recent activities. “No, not really.”

“Shit, wow,” Harley laughs breathlessly. “I mean we could work on a few things but damn Pete, you suck like a pro.”

“Wow, thanks,” Peter responds sarcastically but then they both grin at each other and he feels completely at ease. How was he nervous about this? It’s been mind-blowingly amazing he kind of wants to go again. Maybe try something different this time.

It’s as if Harley can read his mind because he says. “How the hell are you hard again so quickly, teach me your ways, dude.”

Peter swallows an embarrassed laugh, tries to hide the sudden biting fear at being discovered as Spider-Man no matter how unlikely it is. So he goes for flattery: “Uh... have you seen yourself?”

Harley’s eyebrows shoot up, and his cheeks are still such an attractive shade of pink, that Peter wants to kiss the breath out of him. “I caused this?”

“Aha, now fix it.” He can’t believe what’s coming out of his mouth, aided by arousal, nervousness and a need to quickly move along to a new subject. 

Harley’s eyebrows climb up higher. “So suave. How about you get out of those jeans first?”

Peter will _not_ blush, he decides firmly. “Only if you get out of that shirt.”

“Deal.”


	2. So Much Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter pulls out his mask, sees the exact moment Harley’s gaze lands on it and the realisation that sets in instantly in those intelligent eyes. “Oh gods—it’s you, isn’t it? Spider-Man?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I present to you chapter 2! My dumbass forgot to give credits to my wonderful betas the last chapter: thank you, Devon and Daisy, for your wonderful work. Your support means the world!
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy xxx
> 
> Update (24/4/2020): I went back and fixed the numerous typos!

The knot in his stomach loosens dramatically after the initial near anxiety attack of his first time with Harley. All it had taken is an uninterrupted day in the dorm, fooling around, watching movies and eating popcorn, and ending up tangled on the couch again and again. 

After all the pent up frustration was released, Peter finds it’s easier to explore, to touch, to appreciate, to take his time with each caress—the franticness of it all was momentarily lost. 

Harley simply takes all that Peter's willing to give to the point where he briefly wonders if perhaps he's touch starved. He doesn’t know why that makes him sad, except he touches the other man as gently as he knows how to. 

Harley just watches him with that heavy and endless blue gaze, silent sometimes, and yet his eyes are always so loud. They speak a thousand things at once that Peter couldn’t hope to read through and make sense of any of it. 

In just under three weeks, this new dynamic adds an unexpected element to Peter’s daily routine that he hasn't anticipated. It confuses him, as he finds a strange sense of thrill in sharing these newfound feelings with Harley. Meeting his eyes in Math class and sometimes just _knowing_ he's remembering the last time he had Peter sprawled naked on his couch. 

It makes Peter weak in the knees to have that scorching gaze on him in a room full of people, like maybe if they were alone Harley would have taken him on the table just to hear him moan. Peter doesn’t yet understand why he feels emboldened by it—except Harley looks at him a certain way, touches him like he wants to imprint his touch into Peter’s skin, which feels incredibly special and intimate.

Like maybe Peter is the only one to ever uncoil him, to strip him of his self-control. Like Harley just wants to sink into him. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating.

Peter is in physics class with Ned, who he swears is sexting Betty but doesn’t even care to mention it, because that’s an awkward conversation he really doesn’t want to have. Not that Ned ever learned how to keep his private life from Peter. He finds himself privy to things he isn’t sure he wants to know most times, especially about Betty.

Peter wonders what Harley is into. In the past two weeks they never really did anything but touch each other with hands and lips, whispers lost in the dark, moans that gets abruptly cut off—like they’re both afraid to let on exactly the kind of effect they have on each other. 

When Harley begins to spiral down an abyss of pleasure, his words are filthy and heated, as if he can't help but tell Peter exactly what’s going on through his head. It makes Peter’s mind melts a little, hearing Harley’s breath catching over his name, voice rasping over how hot and wet and fucking amazing Peter’s mouth is. 

Sometimes Harley murmurs in a low, dark imitation of his voice about how much he loves Peter’s cock in his mouth, allowing Peter to fuck his throat—the taste of Peter on his tongue. It makes Peter fall apart every time, shudders wracking his frame. 

He never could get himself to reply to those words with admissions of his own—to tell Harley that he has begun to crave the taste of him. To tell him all about how Peter has learned to enjoy the dizzy breathlessness that clouds his brain when he's almost choking for air as Harley’s cock pushes at the back of his throat. He doesn’t think he could ever tell the other man about the maddening, heady dreams he has about being inside him, Harley clawing at the sheets, reduced to a mess under his hands…

Peter resurfaces with a shaky inhale. He realises he’s zoned out, and that he's beginning to ache in places he definitely shouldn't in the middle of Physics class.

Discreetly Peter lays out his jacket over his lap, praying to God he doesn’t spring a boner. That’d be very awkward to explain.

What would he say? `Oh, yes, you see, Einstein’s theories really, really turn me on…’ 

_Ha._

Ned would have a field day with it. ‘Did you know Peter jerks off to Physics equations? I guess humans aren’t complicated enough for him.’

And his brain is falling down the gutter. Again.

He couldn’t wait for Physics to be over; Harley is meeting him and Ned for lunch and Peter is starving for two very distinct things: Pizza and Harley. Although the latter would, unfortunately, have to wait until tonight.

He's finally mustered the guts to ask Harley to sleepover at the Stark tower where Peter currently resides; Peter claimed the scenery change would do them good but in actuality, he just wants Harley in a bed big enough to comfortably fit the both of them.

The couch in Harley’s dorm is too small, and the bed is a tiny twin bed next to the wall, which barely gives them space to lay next to each other without hurting Harley's leg in the process.

Peter’s queen-sized bed on the other hand… bouncy and made from the softest material ever… Harley would love it, he's sure.

He tunes back in on the lesson when he realises Mr Flitz is giving out homework like he usually does before he dismisses them. Looks like he managed to miss the whole class.

* * *

Ned lights up like a Christmas tree when Harley is around; Peter can’t figure out why. Except maybe Harley is kind of freaking dreamy like that.

He dresses in dark colours, jeans that are snug around his ass, leather jackets, tight t-shirts, oversized hoodies that make him look adorable instead of hot. Today he surprises Peter by showing up in a red and black flannel over a dark t-shirt that hugs his chest too closely.

Harley is more compact and broader than Peter, who is lean and sinewy. His shoulders take up Peter’s entire vision when he moves closer to him, hard pectorals right there for Peter to touch. He seemed surprised that first time Peter took off his shirt and he was greeted by six neat packs and a sharply cut v-line. Peter never really had to work for these, the Spider-gene granting him a physique he always dreamed of. Harley didn’t need to know that, however. 

He comes to a stop by their table, grin roguish and eyes bright, leaning on one crutch. “Hey, sorry I’m late. Mr Gavin held us back for a bit.”

Propping up his crutch, he slides into the seat next to Ned, eyes flickering to Peter in front of him, sparkling mischievously in silent promises. Peter swallows and hates himself for wanting to lean over the table and to kiss that smirk off Harley’s mouth. That smug bastard looks too good for his own good. 

“We ordered ahead, I hope you don’t mind,” Ned says, fingers tapping rapidly on his phone before he abruptly shuts it and turns to grin at Harley. “Also guess what?”

“What?” Harley humours Ned, giving him his full attention.

“I think little Petey here is seeing someone,” Ned whispers conspiratorially.

Oh, gods—Peter had suspected that Ned finds some of his recent behaviour suspicious, but he didn’t think he’d catch on so quickly.

Harley arches his eyebrows, confused for a moment, before realisation dawns on him. His eyes flicker to meet Peter’s panicked gaze and he understands then that Ned is referring to their after school activities. “Is that so?”

“ _Please_ , don’t tell me you didn't notice how he keeps zoning out, all dreamy,” Ned sniggers, earning a glare from Peter who opens his mouth to protest but shuts it audibly when Harley speaks up.

“Hmm… now that you mention it...” Harley says deceptively. “Hope they’re treating you well Petey-pie.”

He's such a smug asshole! Peter thinks in equal parts excitement and annoyance. Peter can’t hold his tongue. “More or less.”

Harley briefly raises an eyebrow, as if to say ‘what’s that supposed to mean?’ But he looks away seconds later. “Ned the Pizza lady is waving at you.”

“Oh!” Ned gets up abruptly, and dashes across the food court.

“More or less?” Harley asks with another eyebrow quirk.

Peter feels his cheeks heating but he stubbornly holds Harley’s gaze. “You’re insufferable sometimes.”

“True," Harley grins which makes Peter want to kick him under the table but he doesn’t want to risk actually hurting Harley.

He settles for a huff, which ends up in a warm, embarrassed smile that has the other man staring at Peter’s mouth for a few seconds too long.

Peter clears his throat. “So Pepper is making pasta for tonight, you cool with that?”

“Man, I’m already drooling at the thought of that. Pepper makes the best food,” Harley licks his lips, and it’s now Peter’s turn to stare absently at his mouth.

A box is suddenly being set on the table between them, and it snaps Peter out of his reverie.

A tingling blush spreads over his face as he realises Ned is back, and that he had been staring at Harley like an absolute moron. 

“I’m famished,” Ned announces, oblivious, as he gets back in his seat, and grabs one of the giant boxes, opening it with a flourish. “Oh, gods,” he grabs a slice of melted cheese and pepperoni, “Mnghh, this is better than sex—don’t tell Betty I said that.”

Peter swallows hard. There are a few things he would have liked more than pizza at that moment, one of them is sitting one foot away with an unreadable look on his face, but as it is, he reaches into the box and grabs a slice. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Aha,” Harley echoes and takes a bite. The cheese oil glistens his pink mouth—he chews slowly, his tongue darting out to sweep over his bottom lip. A hum rumbles quietly in his throat, which bops as he swallows, tendons straining… Peter gulps, his stomach clenching with want. 

Harley’s eyes flicker up to meet him, pausing in surprise as he realises Peter is watching him and swallows shakily at whatever he finds in Peter’s expression. Peter instantly ducks his head, a heavy feeling unfurling in his chest and reaches for his Coke, taking a large gulp and then another hoping it’d cool him down.

 _Calm down,_ he tells himself and can’t believe how worked up he gets around Harley—who isn’t even trying to turn him on at the moment! 

But it’s different from before, now that he knows the taste and feel and sound of Harley. He can remember the exact way Harley touches him, the sight of him between Peter’s thighs… 

Ned had already started his ramblings again, talking between bites. It takes Peter a moment to realise the new topic is _him_. Or more accurately his alter ego: Spider-Man. 

“...Lucky! I’ve never seen him before.” Harley breathes, eyes glittering. “I’ve been following him online since that bank robbery video that surfaced all those years ago.”

“I’ve seen him plenty.” Ned brags, nonchalantly. “Sometimes I run his behind the scenes.”

“You _talk_ with Spider-Man?” Harley’s expression would have been more befitting of someone who has just heard their dead grandma came back to life. “You’re messing with me. You’re definitely messing with me.”

Ned cackles, not paying any heed to Peter who is currently trying to discreetly tell Ned to shut the fuck up. He glares at him, hoping the sheer force of his stare would alert the guy, but to no avail.

“He’s messing with you,” Peter starts to say when Ned jumps up suddenly, his knee knocking against the underside of the table, “Shoot! Shit, shit, shit, I promised Betty I’d meet her after class and completely forgot!”

Harley and Peter stared at him, utter disbelief colouring their expressions. “Uh, what?” Peter manages when Ned ducks to pick up his bag and grabs another pizza slice.

“Sorry dudes, seriously, but she’d kill me, or _worse_ , hide away the good lingerie…” The last part is muttered under his breath and then Ned is making his path through the crowd. “See you tomorrow!”

“What just happened?” bewildered, Harley spun back in his seat to face Peter once Ned was out of sight. 

Peter face-palms, scrubbing the same hand over his face and sighs, “Dude, seriously, I give up trying to figure him out. And I’m his _best_ friend.” 

“Tough,” Harley laments and snatches another slice of pizza. A strange lingering tension seemed to have dissipated with Ned’s departure and Peter finds himself relaxing into Harley’s presence. “I can see though, how life would never be boring around that guy.”

“Definitely,” Peter agrees easily and they end up just smiling at each other, like absolute idiots. “Anyway, I was actually going to—”

—A loud clang, something like metal and concrete, echoes in the food court, cutting Peter short.

Both of them jump at the sound, as does everyone else. 

“Watch out!” Someone screams and then a tree crashes through the glass windows lining the roof.

“Oof,” Harley gasps, springing up attentively in his seat. “What the hell?”

Peter’s heart is suddenly roaring in his ears as he watches the figures that start pouring through the roof, carrying guns. 

“What the fuck?” Harley whispers, his face twisting. It’s a strange expression, something caught between fear and a strange calmness. It’s his eyes, Peter thinks, the strange acceptance there that makes him think Harley isn’t unfamiliar with his life being endangered out of nowhere.

It’s unacceptable.

Peter is on his feet before he knows it—there is no plan, not quite. There’s nothing he can do as _Peter Parker_. He needs to get away before this escalates. But he couldn’t leave Harley behind. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to him.

Harley is staring beyond him, mouth pinched at the side like he's calculating his chances of crossing to the back doors of the food court on a crutch. But to Peter’s surprise, Harley proves to be selfless. “If we could create a commotion, maybe we could distract those guys before they start killing students?”

“ _What?_ ” Peter says, the word flat and stunned on his tongue, the sheer ridiculousness of what he heard clouding his mind until he isn’t even sure what the black figures are screaming at them, can barely pay attention to the students cowering back, slipping under the tables in fear.

Harley fishes something out of his pocket. It looks like a tube of lipstick but Peter instantly recognises it for what it is. Tony’s flash grenade. It seems like a lifetime ago he's seen one of these. 

“You can’t be serious,” Peter says, suddenly as terrified as the rest of the students. “What the fuck do you think will happen next?”

“Chaos.” Harley doesn’t look excited at the prospect, but his jaw was set firmly and determinedly.

“Harley those people could start shooting at random,” Peter hisses, ducking down to his bag on the ground. 

It occurs to him then that Harley has probably never been in a fight, that he wouldn’t know.

And Peter would die before he lets anyone harm him or a single student here. 

“Listen,” he's still whispering as he grabs his web shooter, slaps it on his wrist. Everyone else is too busy watching the armed men as they begin rounding up the students, securing their wrists with plastic zip-ties. 

He knows he's about to expose himself to Harley, despite it going against his every instinct, but it’s that or the threat of Harley and those students getting hurt and Peter can’t— _won’t_ —let that happen.

“I need you to trust me,” He tells Harley, meeting his gaze from where he was crouched by the table, out of sight. Harley’s eyes glitter strangely, a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.

“What are you going to do?” Harley whispers, eyes shifting above Peter, left and right, as those men begin to make their way to the back of the food court where they’re sat.

Peter pulls out his mask, sees the exact moment Harley’s gaze lands on it and the realisation that sets in instantly in those intelligent eyes. “Oh gods—it’s you, isn’t it? Spider-Man?”

Peter had expected more shock and is surprised with the notion that his being Spider-Man doesn’t strike Harley as that outrageously impossible.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Peter cautions as he slips the mask on. He's quick to shed his clothes, his Spider-Man suit skin tight beneath them.

It has become a habit, to always wear it. He's never been more thankful for that foresight. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Harley asks urgently, one of the masked men rounding to their side. It’s unmistakable, the quiver of fear that rattles Harley’s spine and Peter, suddenly, feels almost murderous.

The surge of intense protectiveness clogs his lungs, strips him of his breath. Adrenaline starts coursing heavily through his veins, his muscles coiling, ready to fight. Those men are going to regret ever stepping foot through this building when he's done with them.

“Stay down.” Is Peter’s only response before he springs away, firing a string of web at the ceiling and hefting himself away.

“Spider-Man!” The relieved cries of students are followed by a growling command from what Peter assumes is the gang leader and suddenly a hundred bullets are being aimed at the ceiling. 

The students scream, ducking beneath tables and chairs, and Peter curses softly as he webs a nearby table and slams it into the group of men clustered by the exit, blocking it.

The table takes all four of them out, crashing through the glass-door. 

Now Peter can hear the sirens in the distance. Good. Help is on the way.

He webs the gun out of another guys hand, launches it into the face of another. 

“Midday breaking and entering? Really guys?” He asks, grabbing a guy by the back of the neck, ignoring his shrieks as he slams his face into the table, once, twice, flips him over onto his back and webs him to the table. “This isn’t a movie.”

Three men charged him, their bullets missing Peter by a few inches each, his heightened senses making him flip, duck and pirouette out of the way at the last possible second. He webs one in the crotch, earning a howl of indignation, strings the arms of the other two together and then yanks them closer just in time for his feet to meet their faces.

They go flying across the room.

Realising they’re fighting a losing battle, the last half-dozen agents refocus their attention on grabbing the hostages. Their only hope against stopping Spider-Man.

Peter freezes at the sight of a man pointing a gun at Harley’s head.

Harley doesn’t look particularly terrified, but there's a tenseness in his posture, a wince on his face as the man forces him up on his broken leg. Peter sees red for a moment—he can barely breathe against the overwhelming urge to say _fuck it_ and save Harley at the cost of everything else. 

The thought terrifies his mind into clarity.

Harley is clutching something in his palm. 

Their eyes meet, and understanding passes between the two of them. Peter quickly glances around at the scattered men holding students hostage, as their team leader converges on Peter with a sneer on his uncovered mouth. “Hands up, Spider-Man. Or heads will roll.” 

Peter’s gaze meets Harley’s again, gives a minuscule nod before—

—“Now!” He shouts, jumping up to land on the ceiling.

Harley tosses the light grenade, and it’s blinding, but Peter’s suit filters it out, turns on infra-red scanners and Peter makes quick work of taking the remaining men out, starting with Harley’s captor. 

He hits him with a little more force than necessary—but the bastard had it coming.

The light quickly dissipates, and Peter’s breath along with it. It unveils the piles of unconscious agents littering every corner.

Some students start cheering, some others make a run for the door without a pause, abandoning their belongings. Peter can’t blame them for the intense fear he sees in their faces, the tear tracks marking paths down their cheeks. 

“You son of a bitch—“ it’s a last-ditch attempt from a man sprawled on the ground, but Peter had gotten distracted by seeking out Harley to see if he's fine. 

The grenade goes off and Peter doesn’t think. He flings himself at the girl standing nearby, paralysed by fear. The explosion catches him in the side, sends them both hurtling across a few tables and landing roughly on a set of chairs that topple over under their combined weight.

Peter has the forethought to flip them so that he takes the brunt of the fall.

He wheezes, his ribs throbbing angrily. The girl stumbles away, rattled, her eyes so wide with fear Peter worries she might pass out.

“It’s okay—“ he begins to assure, but the man who attacked him had gotten back on his feet, and was suddenly on top of him, taking advantage of Peter’s disoriented state.

Peter gasps as the man’s weight settles over his fractured ribs, and barely avoids a blow to the face.

He raises his arms up to shield himself and is surprised when no blow comes. Instead, a shriek of pain from his attacker echoes through the room, startling him.

He opens his eyes, and can’t breathe at the sight of Harley there with his crutch in hand, heaving with strain. “Get the fuck off him!”

He brings the crutch down again, strikes the man between his shoulder blades. Peter’s attacker rolls away, groaning in pain.

The assailant tries to get up, which is apparently the wrong thing to do because Harley snarls, brings his crutch down again. It lands on the man’s stomach, earning a howl from him, “Stay the fuck down or I swear I’ll break this damn thing over your head!”

Peter can’t fucking believe his eyes. Exasperation, fear and fondness war inside his chest; pride and affection surging through him with a jarring intensity that would have knocked him off his feet had he been standing. 

The man still tries to wiggle away, and this time Harley drops atop of him, bringing his fist down and punches him right in the face. The man goes limp.

Harley pants heavily, sweat beading on his forehead. And then he winces as he awkwardly heaves himself off the unconscious man. 

A chorus of claps can be heard from somewhere in the distance, but for Peter, they’re drowned out by the heavy thuds of his heartbeat in his ears.

“Shit,” Harley is saying, crawling towards Peter, concern carving lines into his face. “Are you okay? Fuck, I saw that grenade hit you, please tell me how you're feeling—“

Peter cuts Harley off by doing something utterly ridiculous. 

He rips his mask up until it uncovers his mouth, grabs the back of Harley’s neck and kisses him. 

And then he webs out of the broken roof, leaving behind a startled Harley and a crowd of gaping college students. 

* * *

“What the _fuck_ was that about?” Ned says the second Peter picks up his phone.

He's still in his Spider-Man suit and has barely made it back to the tower before he gets a call from Ned who has clearly seen the news.

“Hi Ned,” Peter says breathlessly, every part of him sagging in relief at hearing the voice of his best friend. 

The whole time he had been fighting those dudes he kept thinking, _shit, I’m so glad Ned made it out._

“I leave you for one minute, one goddamn minute, and somehow you manage to get sucked into a school invasion? _What the fuck._ ” 

Peter yanks his mask off, sucks in a breath. He was careless. Stupid. It was going so well until Peter fucking decided it is okay to kiss a civilian in his Spider-Man uniform in front of his entire university. 

“Ned. Ned,” He says urgently. “Um. What does the news say exactly?”

Ned pauses. “Um… someone uploaded a live video of those men invading through the roof. Obviously he was caught but the video was already out there and the police was alerted. Why?”

Peter wishes he could say his next line without wanting to choke himself with his own bare hands. “I… I may have done something really, really fucking stupid.”

“Oh? You mean that you kissed Harley in the middle of a crowd of awe-struck teenagers? Yeah, not your best move.”

Peter’s jaw pops open. He tries to form words, but he's shocked the news has already spread, although he doesn’t know what the hell he expected with a move like that. “You saw that?”

“Are you kidding? _Spider-Man Awards Saviour With A Smooch_ ? _College Student Earns A Kiss From Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man? LGBTQ+ Community debates: ‘Spider-Man is one of us.’_ Need I go on?”

Peter groans, burying his face in his hands and letting out a few pitiful sounds that only earn him amused chuckles from Ned. “I mean, what did you expect? I think it’s cute and romantic, though. Like a public love confession.”

“Ned, focus,” Peter pleads. “What are those people saying? What if they connect Peter Parker with Spider-Man because of this?”

“Nah,” Ned disagrees, and some shuffling could be heard on the other line. “Everyone seems to think it’s a thank-you kiss for Harley being so brave… isn’t it?”

Peter pauses. He could lie—say it was a spur of the moment thing. He could even insist that it was Harley who kissed him, despite what the headlines said. 

Except Ned is his best friend and knows all of his identities—this one shouldn’t be any different. Peter sucks in another shaky breath. “Um. I uh, I like Harley. We’re um. Kind of seeing each other? It’s nothing official…”

Ned goes silent on the other end of the line. “Wait. Oh my god. He's who you'vee been daydreaming about?! I KNEW IT! Jesus, sorry—man, I’m so excited for you! You guys are cute as fuck.”

Peter lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. It’s not like he expected Ned to have a problem with it whatsoever, but he's a little taken aback by his vehement show of support. Even touched by it. “Uh, haha, yeah I guess. Crap, I hope he's not angry at me for that.”

“Pffft, someone asked him what it felt like to kiss Spider-Man, and he said he's never going to wash his mouth again,” Ned sniggers, “Does he know it’s you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, even though Ned can’t see it. 

That earns him another round of sniggers. “Oh man, this is too good. Keep me posted on what he says, by the way.”

“This isn’t a reality show,” Peter grumbles without heat and can’t help but smile at Ned’s laughter. 

“I’ll take any fun I could have,” Ned admits, and then says regretfully. “Gotta go, man, Betty’s quite shaken from the news. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“Sure,” Peter agrees softly and ends the call with a ‘see ya’, which Ned echoes.

Peter sits on the roof for a few more minutes debating what to do. He only gets down when he sees a cab pull up in front of the entrance and Harley stumbles out, balancing on the same crutch he used to save Peter earlier.

His heart starts thundering in his chest, and he fidgets as he takes the elevator down.

Before he has any more time to work up the nerve to confront Harley, the elevator door opens and he finds himself standing face to face with the guy. Peter sucks in an abrupt breath that gets stuck in his throat. At the same time, Harley’s eyes widen at the sight of him and he takes a step back.

But then Harley smiles tentatively, and something inside Peter melts. “Parker there’s an etiquette to kissing people, damn it. You don’t make a break for it afterwards!”

Peter feels his face burning but he can’t help but grin, “I’d say sorry except I don’t _really_ regret it.”

Harley steps into the elevator with him, even though this is where Peter had intended to get off. “Which part? Kissing me, or leaving the world to speculate your sexuality?”

“Maybe both,” Peter decides with a sly smile and lets Harley back him up against the elevator mirror. 

“Do you know how many people wanted to interview me about it the second you were gone?” Harley murmurs, breath ghosting over Peter’s chin.

Peter swallows at the wonderful heat of Harley’s body fanning his. “What did you say?” He breaths, wrapping his arms around Harley’s middle so that Harley didn’t have to put any more unnecessary weight on his leg.

“I said I was lucky,” Harley admits, looking into Peter’s eyes with that honest, crystal blue gaze of his. “But you know what I really wanted to say?”

“Mhm?” Peter is distracted by the careful drag of Harley’s palm up to his sides, as though Harley is inspecting his injuries instead of feeling his skin.

Harley's lips brush against his own, soft and testing, “That if you hadn’t made a run for it… I would have kissed you breathless.” Harley’s lips move against his own again and Peter’s heart quivers strangely at the warmth that branches through his chest.

He moans softly into Harley’s mouth and tugs him closer. “You aren’t mad?” he asks, breaking away from the dizzying, exhilarating feeling of Harley’s mouth on his.

“Nah,” Harley decides, carding his fingers through Peter’s hair. “I thought it was kind of hot. That you didn’t give a shit who saw it.”

Peter tries to swallow the achy feeling in his chest. He attempts humour. “Don’t tell me you’re an exhibitionist.”

“Please, I was raised by Tony Stark, you bet your ass I am.” 

It’s the first time Tony is mentioned in any context that doesn’t make Peter want to keel over from the sheer overwhelming force of this monumental loss that never once abated in the past three years. 

Maybe it’s knowing that Harley is like him, a kid that Tony had taken under his wing, and changed his life. 

Maybe it’s the way Harley says Tony’s name, with reverence, but with a softness that suggests Tony was more than a role-model.

Peter arches his neck, presses his parted lips against Harley's and kisses him purposefully. They stand there for a moment, just enjoying each other’s warmth, tongues moving languidly together.

“Young Sir, I apologise for the interruption but I must bring to your attention that miss Potts is attempting to summon the elevator.” FRIDAY’s soft croon echoes from the speakers, effectively halting their make-out session.

“Oh shit, thanks Fri, we’ll get off here please,” Peter says and drags Harley out as the doors slide open.

They walk into the living area, a spacious living room with glass windows lining the walls on both sides, giving them an unhindered view of New York City that stretches for miles.

The TV is on, playing a live broadcast of their college post-invasion. Some students had lingered around and are now being interviewed by reporters.

“I was so scared,” a girl says, and Peter recognises her as the lady he pushed out of the grenade’s way. “I thought I was going to die… but then Spider-Man pushed me away. He saved my life.”

The footage cuts to a Filipino man, “Dude, it was amazing. I can’t believe I was in the same room as Spider-Man! He totally kicked ass, and he did it while no one got hurt. Spider-Man is the best.”

They switch to another live feed, this time of Mari from Physics class. Her dark skin doesn’t conceal the gash on her arm, and she presses a cloth to it to dap at the blood, “I know him from class, the kid who saved Spider-Man. His name is Harley, he recently transferred here. It’s so brave what he did, and he's recovering from a broken leg too. I think people should give him recognition too instead of entirely focusing on Spider-Man. While what Spider-Man did was absolutely heroic, Harley is a civilian who stepped up despite being physically weaker than the attacker. He could have been hurt, but he didn’t care, he did the right thing.”

Peter glances at Harley to spy the blush on his cheeks, the sheepishness in his gaze. “They’re painting me as a hero for saving my friend. I don’t know if that’s right.”

He reaches over to hold Harley’s hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You _are_ a hero. You stepped up when no one expected you to—taking on that kind of responsibility, making that sort of decision? That’s what makes a hero. Not superpowers, not what kind of relationship you have with the person you saved. It’s stepping up.”

Harley swallows convulsively. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around you being…” he trails off, glancing at Peter. The look in his eyes is hard to discern, Peter couldn't read it. “I kind of suspected it? What with the relationship Spider-Man had with Iron-Man and the way you talk about Tony, like you feel personally responsible for that happened to him, like there was something you could have done to stop it or something.”

Peter turns to face him now, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “But even then, I thought _nah_. I don’t know. You’re very different out of that suit.”

The words leave an odd impression over Peter. He knows this, of course. That Spider-Man is more self-assured, more out there than Peter Parker ever could be. But it’s weird to finally hear someone say it. “I know.”

“Is Spider-Man a facet of you or is it just a mask you wear to stop crime?” The question knocks him off guard. No one’s ever asked him that before.

“Um,” Peter starts haltingly, swallows against the sudden tightening in his throat and looks away towards the unobstructed view of the city he loves. “It’s both. Spider-Man is a responsibility. It’s not a choice. Like watching a bad guy beat up a good guy. You’re a bad guy too if you don’t step in when you’re capable of breaking up the fight… Spider-Man is—is masked, sure, but nothing about him is a _mask_. It’s not fake. I’m not pretending I’m just protecting my identity so that my family doesn’t suffer in consequence.”

He’ll never forget the times Tony told him about Aldrich Killian using Pepper to get to him. The kind of terrible things he did to her, and how they had haunted Tony. 

“I think Spider-Man brings out the best in me, and in others as well. It’s bigger than just me. It’s an icon. A calling to do and be better. My uncle once told me, with his dying breath, that with great power comes great responsibility. So it’s not really _about_ me. It’s about those powers and the right thing to be done with them.” Peter finishes softly, feeling unexpectedly exposed and vulnerable.

When Harley squeezes his hand, Peter returns his gaze to the other man. Harley is watching him with something like wonder. “How did you get those powers?”

Peter’s mouth quirks in a little smile. “Will you believe me if I told you I got bit by a radioactive spider on a school trip to Oscorp?”

Harley’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Peter chuckles, lets Harley lean against him. “I wish I was, but nope.”

“Your life must be exhausting,” Harley mutters with a soft laugh.

“I prefer ‘hectic’,” Peter grins, allowing himself to thread his fingers through Harley’s hair.

The moment is broken by the elevator ding that signals Pepper’s arrival.

Harley and Peter reluctantly break apart.

“Peter, honey,” she says, concern in her tone. “I came as soon as I heard. Are you okay?”

Her eyes dart between the two of them, and Peter realises with a start that she _knows_. His face positively burns, and he's so thankful she doesn’t mention it because he has no idea what to say. “We’re fine,” he replies steadily, holding Pepper’s gaze and pleading silently for her not to ask about Harley.

She doesn’t.

“Christ, these days, not even school is safe," she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Go on you two, shower and get into some comfortable clothes, I’ll make us some tea.”

Both boys nod, and trek out of the living room. Peter leads Harley deep into the apartment, where Peter’s room is located at the end of the hall. 

Harley takes a moment to gaze around as Peter roots through his closet for clothes. He flings a pair of shorts and a t-shirt at Harley who grabs them mid-air with his free hand.

“You can shower here,” Peter says, pointing at his in-suit bathroom. “There’s towels and everything inside.”

Harley nods slowly, begins to hobble towards the door. “Thanks… where will you go?”

“The guest bathroom,” Peter smiles lopsidedly. “There’s no shortage of bathrooms in this place don’t worry.”

“Alright.” They share a grin and then Harley disappears into the bathroom. 

Peter grabs a change of clothes and leaves just as the sound of the shower echoes from the in-suit.

* * *

Tea with Pepper is a somewhat silent affair. She’s more concerned with Happy bringing Morgan home from the park and Happy beseeching her for another hour before the sun sets.

Peter and Harley sit in the corner huddled under blankets and sipping tea contentedly, _Inception_ playing on the TV.

“This movie still confuses the crap out of me,” Harley confesses quietly, not wanting to disturb Pepper who had given up wheedling Happy to return her child and had settled with a novel in hand for some mindless reading. “And I’ve watched it three times.”

Peter chuckles, “Maybe this time you’ll finally get it. Fourth time’s a charm.”

“The saying is: third time’s a charm,” Harley sticks his tongue out at him, which immediately captures and holds Peter’s attention.

“Po-te-to, po-ta-to,” Peter remarks with a shrug, watching Harley’s mouth for a second longer before meeting his gaze.

The silence is suddenly tense, the atmosphere heavy and tangible. And it’s ridiculous, Peter decides. But how can anyone resist Harley when he looks like that? Hair a dishevelled mess, eyes like the sun glittering off the vast sea, and mouth so pink and distracting?

Dammit, but it’s incredibly hard to not like looking at someone so pretty. To not want to touch them. Especially when Peter still remembers with crystal clarity the look on Harley’s face as he used his crutch to rescue Peter.

Peter doesn’t think he can articulate the emotion that fills him at the memory. The perplexing, overwhelming urge to steal Harley away from the world, where nothing could hurt him, mixed with the intense need to feel up every inch of that skin and make sure Harley is okay. 

He feels a swirl of pride, trepidation, confusion, _anger_ … it’s a mess that gets tangled in his gut until he can’t make sense of it anymore and is left with a tightening in his stomach that speaks mostly of longing.

He doesn’t know anymore, what any of it means. It scares him because he wants to touch Harley not just out of a sexual desire, but because he aches to feel the softness of the other man’s skin, for the pressure of the sure way Harley touches him, like he's protected. The odd and admittedly misplaced safety he finds there despite being a hundred times stronger than Harley is addicting. The longing he gets for the intimacy they share, something secret, concealed, something just between them is all he ever wants anymore.

But he doesn’t want to ponder these thoughts. He doesn’t want to search for labels or understand his feelings, he just wants this. The simple urge to be physically close with Harley, the comfort he offers so readily. If it’s enough for Harley, it’s enough for him.

* * *

When Dinner was done, and goodnights were shared and Pepper retreated to her room upstairs, Peter finds himself with an armful of a languid Harley, who seems content to just run his hand up and down Peter’s back under his shirt.

The room is dark, the only light seeping through is the diffused New York City headlights. They’re too high up to hear the buzz of the city or the whooshing of cars the way they do at Harley’s dorm. There’s an inherent peacefulness in that, being locked away from the world like nothing else outside this room existed—all thoughts silent, all worries abated.

“Do you ever wish you weren’t bitten by that spider?” Harley wonders quietly into the nook of his neck where his face nuzzled.

Peter runs his fingers through soft brown strands, tugs gently until he hears a pleased hum, “I don’t know, I don’t think so, not really. Sure, sometimes it’s overwhelming. But I’m grateful more than anything that I was given the chance to be something more.”

“That spider was onto something when he chose you to bite,” Harley says humorously, which makes Peter grin into the nest of hair under his chin.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he says, an echo of a line Tony used to say. 

“ _Everywhere_?” Harley’s tone is lecherous, and Peter pinches his butt in retaliation. 

“Can it, Keener.” He says without any real heat. In fact, if Harley looks up he’ll see how wide Peter’s smile really is.

“Hey, I can’t help it. You make me want to do things to you.” Perhaps Harley meant to say it playfully, but the admission comes out heavy, rasping in Harley’s throat, embedding into Peter’s skin.

It makes him shut his eyes tightly, overcome by a wave of heat that crests its way up his spine. “I swear you say things like that and I…” Peter gulps down and stops.

“And you…?” Harley wheedles.

“And I suddenly want you to do more,” Peter finishes in one breath, over an exhale.

Harley hums against him, his touch dragging more purposefully now. “And that’s so bad because...?”

“It scares me,” Peter admits, voice laced with doubt and shame.

Harley is silent for a moment. 

“Why?” he finally asks.

Peter shrugs. He wishes he knew why. “I guess maybe because this is unfamiliar.”

Harley’s lips on his throat jolts him. “Maybe all we need is to make it familiar then.”

Peter can’t argue with that when those lips move reverently over his skin, up the tendons of his neck and the line of his jaw. The hand on his back kneads at the firm muscles of his shoulders, skims down tingling skin and grips his ass.

The breath stalls in his throat, and it’s so ridiculous how easily he loses himself in that touch. In the loud and silent spaces of two hearts beating in tandem.

His hands move, wanting to feel too. They grab at broad shoulders, map down Harley’s spine and feel at the firm muscles of his ass.

He ends up on top of Harley, watching the way the darkness obscured his expression while at the same time the light caught in his iridescent irises.

They weren’t kidding when they said eyes are the windows to the soul. When Harley is with Peter like this, his gaze is so unguarded, it rips the breath out of him with all the emotions he finds locked in there. 

He ducks down, presses his mouth to Harley’s and relishes the softness of gentle lips against his own, the electric current that passes through them, the wet heat that travels all the way down to his toes.

Harley squirms against him, and just like that first night, reaches around Peter to dig sinfully long fingers in his ass and grinds them together.

His breath hitches; he thinks he should be used to this. Used to the burning in his stomach, to the tingles that tickled his skin, to the heady lightheadedness that makes it hard to think beyond wanting more and more of everything Harley is willing to give. But he isn’t, at all—is still utterly consumed and lost to all the sensations. 

Peter’s hips roll against Harley, feeling the delicious friction build, and with it the solid heat in Harley’s shorts. And just like that, his fingers are itching to touch that skin—to feel Harley sliding against his palm.

He reaches between them—he grows more daring with every encounter, with every time he watches Harley dissolve into something primal beneath his touch, with every time Harley falls apart beneath his adventurous fingers. He finds that he craves that; the way Harley’s frame trembles, the way he says Peter’s name like he's forgotten every other word for a moment. 

Peter’s fingers dip beneath the waistband, wraps a fist around the semi-hardened flesh and strokes. Harley breathes deeply, reaching over to press a palm to Peter’s crotch to return the favour.

Peter no longer feels embarrassed by the way his hips arch and push into Harley’s touch, seeking more of it. He no longer feels embarrassed by the little noises that escape his throat because Harley is right there with him making noises of his own.

Harley is soon pushing his hand into Peter’s boxers to touch his skin. His fingers dance over the flesh, teasing at first, and then more firmly. 

“Gods,” Peter says, taken aback by the flare of heat in his gut no matter how many times they’ve done this, it feels so good each and every single time. 

Harley arches up to kiss him, despite the awkward position, arms wrapping around Peter. When he falls back, he pulls Peter down with him. Their teeth clink—this kiss is more heated, lips and teeth and tongue that fight for dominance. 

“Take your clothes off,” Harley demands into his mouth, which sets off a chain reaction in Peter’s body.

The words and the moan are swallowed down his throat. They serpentine down his spine and coil tightly at the base, curling his toes. 

Peter breaks away with a gasp for air, grasps at the hem of his shirt and yanks it up and off. He tosses it away carelessly, more concerned with getting Harley out of his shirt than anything else.

He lifts him off the mattress easily, rips off the offending article of clothing and runs both hands down Harley’s front until he's touching the tent in his shorts again,

Harley groans, bucks fully into his palm. “Jesus, please, do something…”

Peter doesn’t waste any more time crawling down Harley’s body. He all but yanks his shorts and boxers off in one go, grasps Harley’s hips as he places his legs over his shoulders, and buries his face between them. 

Harley keens, feeling Peter’s tongue at the back of his balls, so close to the rim of sensitive nerves lining his anus, flicking teasingly.

Peter sucks his balls, taking his time tasting him, his thumb brushing curiously over his opening. It practically makes Harley tremble, so sensitive there. “Oh Gods, please, please Peter…”

Hearing Harley beg does things to him he never could have anticipated, it coils him up so taut he feels like bursting. It tugs at a more primal side of him he didn’t even know existed, makes him want to dominate Harley. It’s such a strange urge, but Peter doesn’t fight it. 

His thumb cautiously presses in, listening carefully to the pleased groans of his partner before he decides this is okay. He pushes in further, consumed by the sensation of heat and tightness he finds, reminiscent of a time he touched Gwen. 

Harley is making such a delicious noise, Peter starts throbbing as he takes him in his mouth and sucks down on the head. 

A hand sinks into his mob of curls, tugs and pulls as hips roll into his mouth. “Yess, _fuck_.”

Egged on, Peter swallows him down, down, down. Harley jerks against him, gasping, and the hand in his hair tightens.

“Shit, _shit_ ,” he tugs Peter off, dragging him up for a wet tangle of tongues and then—

“Please,” Harley rasps against his lips, wrapping his arms around Peter’s middle. “I— I want you to fuck me.” 

Peter’s gasp is swallowed by another searing kiss, Harley’s want is so acute on his tongue. It’s a struggle for Peter to reign himself in long enough to muster the will to pull back and look at Harley. “What?”

Harley nibbles on his jaw, rolling their hips together. His breath is like fire on Peter's skin as he grunts in his ear. “I can’t stop thinking about it—what it’d be like to have you inside me—“ Harley makes another sound, something raw and throaty, as they roll together more firmly. “Shit, Pete, it’d be a dream.”

Peter can barely focus beyond the _need-want-need_ that clouds his mind with those words, beyond the haze of his arousal but even then he realises the kind of milestone that would mark. Peter’s never been inside anyone.

He pauses to lean back and look at Harley, trying hard to calm himself enough to think. “But I… I’ve never done that before… are you sure?”

Harley’s answer is to drag him down for another kiss. “Please,” he presses into his lips. “I’m sure.”

Peter grunts as the kiss devolves to something messy and filthy, Harley’s tongue so hot and slick against his own. He's surprised by how much he wants to take Harley, by how much he wants him to be his first.

His mind kicks into overdrive as they break the kiss. He looks around the room, tries to remember where he stashed away the condoms Ned had playfully given him. “Give me a minute,” he tells Harley, hops off and skips to the bathroom where he keeps a bottle of lube. He searches the drawers there until he finds the aforementioned condoms and by the time he's back Harley had scooted up against the pillows.

Their eyes meet, and Harley parts his legs. Peter doesn’t need any more invitation.

He attacks Harley’s mouth again, plundering it with his tongue, sucks and licks on his lips until they’re bruised. When he pulls back he regards him with barely concealed trepidation. “Have you done this before?”

Harley gives a jerky nod, notices the lube and relaxes. “I’ll guide you, okay?”

Peter sucks in a shaky breath, uncaps the lube bottle. This first part should be somewhat familiar, he thinks, as he slicks his fingers. 

“Nice and easy, just like that...” Harley breathes deeply as Peter pushes two fingers in. His eyes flutter shut in bliss, and Peter is completely taken by the way Harley clamps down around him.

Just the thought of being inside that tight heat makes him dizzy with arousal. He works his fingers rhythmically, tries to find the right angle. He knows that if he hits the prostate it’ll feel really good; he doesn’t remember where he read that, or why, at that moment, except he's suddenly grateful for the knowledge.

When Harley suddenly arches into his touch, makes a sound that bubbles from the depths of his chest, Peter knows he found what he was looking for. He focuses on that spot, presses against it with every thrust, watches the way it dissolved Harley to a babbling mess of want and heat even and adds a third finger.

It’s so unbelievably sexy Peter can’t hold back a second longer. He eventually withdraws his fingers and grabs a condom. He's practised using one before, for no particular reason, and is glad that it rolls easily across his length.

Harley is a heaving flushed mess of matted hair and glistening skin, and Peter wants to ravish him.

He grabs his thighs, easily drags him down the bed so that he's lying down again.

Peter squirts a generous amount of lube on himself and on Harley and hopes he doesn’t lose his nerve. But Harley is watching him with that lidded gaze, lips parted and body so fucking ready for him. 

His cock trickles a continuous stream of pre-cum, twitching under Peter’s gaze and for a moment he's almost overtaken by the urge to take Harley down his throat. 

He takes in a wavering breath instead and parts Harley’s thighs. He doesn’t know where this courage came from, where this _urge_ came from, except he wants Harley _now_. 

Peter presses the head gently against Harley’s opening, tells himself to calm down when a spasm rattles his spine. Harley is so tight, so warm, that Peter really can’t breathe as he breaches the sinful heat of his body.

“Shit,” Peter stutters, as Harley grasps the sheets, shudders around him and moans. 

He strains against the urge to slam into him, to fully encase himself in the heavenly sensation of Harley surrounding him like this. He sinks in inch by inch and watches the way it makes Harley gasp and moan and claw at the sheets.

“Shit, shit Pete, fuck,” he rumbles, eyes squeezing shut and chest heaving, “All of you—I want all of you,”

Peter settles inside him, and only then realises he's been holding his breath when it rushes out of him in a heavy exhale. His teeth sink into his lip, and he feels a dampness at his hairline. He's surprised by how much the simple act of entering Harley took out of him.

But the grasp of Harley’s body on his is like a vice, and there’s nothing quite like it. It’s an intense, unrivalled feeling—it makes Peter want to fall apart.

He leans forward, kisses Harley’s mouth, swallows his pretty moans and mentally urges himself to last long enough to imprint every second of this experience into his brain.

His hips draw back, just a little, and push forward, but the sound Harley makes is something animalistic and unbridled. It winds in Peter like a string, makes him move his hips again, just to hear that sound once more. 

It’s addicting, the hot slide of Harley against him, the broken sounds he makes in his throat, the way he starts pleading for Peter to fuck him harder. 

Peter loses the battle with his self-control. His grasp is unbreakable on Harley’s thighs as he yanks his hips up and slams into him. Harley cries out, a babble of _‘Yes, yes, yes, please, more of you, please, fuck!’_.

He doesn’t think he's ever seen anything hotter than the sight of Harley then, slick skin and flushed cheeks and bruised lips that moan filthy things, his body moving against Peter’s with reckless abandon.

Peter can’t really think straight, much less worry about stifling the embarrassing grunts he makes every time Harley’s body sucks him in completely, but he still has enough presence of mind to run his hand over every available inch of skin, to tell Harley how amazing he is, how hot and sexy he is taking Peter in like that. 

Peter reaches to wrap his hand around Harley’s cock, twists his wrist as he jerks him, glad he's so excellent at multitasking.

Harley falls apart. He cries out loudly, shudders transferring from his frame to Peter’s, and then ribbons of cum shoot across his chest, making an utter mess.

The sight of Harley covered in his own cum, the feeling of his ass squeezing tightly around Peter’s cock, pulls him over the edge.

Peter growls, the intense burning in his loins flaring to dangerous heights and then he's coming long and hard, shudder after shudder wracking his frame. “ _Shiiit_.”

He moves through the waves of pleasure until both of them are spent, can barely believe he's gone so long without the wonderful delight of sex. 

He slows to a stop, running his hands up and down Harley’s thighs until Harley comes down from his high. The other man looks exhausted, well and thoroughly ravished.

He's a sexy mess on the sheets, the relaxed, satisfied expression on his face has Peter’s chest filling with pride at being the cause of it.

“I think I’m going to sleep really, really well tonight,” Harley wheezes, running his hands across his face.

Peter gently slides out of him, feeling more sensitive than ever. He lets out a strangled laugh, “Jesus, I can’t believe I just…”

“Welcome to the debauched world of sex, I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay,” Harley says, as a joke, and Peter is so pleased they can still do that after such an intense moment that he finds himself laughing. 

“You’re completely shameless,” Peter tells him, grabs a wad of tissue from the nightstand to clean them.

“Says the man who fucked me with his boxers still half on.” Harley retorts, but he's grinning.

“Some would call that kinky,” Peter says, and is taken aback by his own words. Harley has really uncovered a part of Peter he's never knew was there.

“I can think of a few kinky things we can do, you kinky man,” Harley teases and when Peter glares at him, he laughs. “C’mere and kiss me, I demand aftercare and cuddles. You better still respect me in the morning.”

Peter chokes on a laugh as he leans over to deliver Harley’s request. They kiss sweetly, devoid of tension, and Peter loses himself for the second time that night, to the festering, secret little thing brewing between two bodies. 

He thinks absently that he wouldn’t have minded getting lost here forever.

He thinks maybe Harley knows that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and reviews motivate me to write more, so if you're feeling generous, drop me a line! <3


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